


Shomakhâl

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Series: Shomakhâl [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bilbo Misses His Parents, Bilbo Swears Sometimes, Brothers, But He's Just As Bad, But He's Still A Baggins, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Father-Son Relationships - Freeform, Fear, Glóin Does Not Approve Of This, Glóin Is A Softie, Glóin Would Definitely Not Approve, Good Thing He Has Glóin, Hair Braiding, Happy Ending, He Signs The Contract Straightaway, He's More Tookish, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Bilbo 39 Years Old, Love, M/M, Mischief, No Bagginshield, Papa!Glóin, Parental Death, Protective Glóin, Romance, Uncle Óin, Yes I Know He's Not, eventual adoption, injuries, it seemed like a good idea at the time, sleeping problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 75,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Bilbo signs the contract, the Dwarves find out his true age. Horrified, they assign him a guardian. Who better to take their burglar under their wing than their ax-wielding redhead? As the journey to the Lonely Mountain unfolds, bonds are formed between the two that can never be broken as Glóin learns to care for the hobbit  and Bilbo learns that it's never too late to find family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age

I have another account on FF.N. On there I have a story called   _Gangel_ , and this story is inspired by chapter 5 'Lost and Found'. For those of you who have read it, you'll know it fixates on creating a parental relationship between Gloin and Bilbo. For those of you who haven't, well now you know. I've been lucky enough so far to only stumble upon fanfictions which hint at their friendship/ relationship whatever you call it. I prefer to write them as a family because I, personally, can see it happening. The chapter that inspired this work will not be placed into this particular story. Unlike Gangel, this won't be a series of one-shots.  


* * *

"I will sign the contract."  
  
Gandalf hid a smile. He knew Bilbo would. You can't possibly grow up with Belladonna Took as your mother and not gain at least some part of her adventurous spirit. As he watched the son of his old friend sign the parchment, he noticed Oin was looking at Bilbo with his head turned to one side. Gandalf knew that look. It mean Oin suspected something. And he had a feeling he knew exactly what.  
  
"Here, lad, how old are you?" Oin called over.  
  
"Me? I'm 39." At the Dwarves' suddenly dazed expressions, he hastily added; "Years. I'm thirty nine years."  
  
" Thirty nine... You let a child sign the contract?!" Balin asked Gandalf in stunned disbelief.  
  
"Of course I didn't..."  
  
"But, he's not even forty! He's a babe for Mahal's sake!" Bofur argued, looking over at the now rather irritated Hobbit.  
  
"I," Bilbo said as loudly as he could over the rabble, "am not a babe or a child, thank you very much. I am of age, I'll have you all know!"  
  
"Yes, lad." said Dwalin in an unintentionally patronizing tone.  
  
"He can't unsign the contract, can he?" Nori wanted to know.  
  
"What d'you mean, 'unsign' it?" Dori asked  
  
"Well, can he scratch his name out?"  
  
"That is enough!" Gandalf thundered. "If he has signed it, then that's that! He will be accompanying you and you will allow it!"  
  
There was a short silence, broken by the soft clicking of a faraway clock's hands.  
  
"He could have one of us as guardian, couldn't he?" Ori suggested.  
  
"Yes! Very good, Ori!"  
  
"But which one?" Bombur asked.  
  
"Ooh, us!"  
  
"Mahal forbid. Kili, you'd destroy the poor bugger if he was left in your care."  
  
As the Dwarves argued, Gandalf stood and left the room, muttering about the lunacy of Dwarves and other things Bilbo didn't quite hear. He trotted after the Wizard, wondering just what was going on now.  
  
"You see, Bilbo," Gandalf explained, suddenly kneeling in front of Bilbo to look him in the eyes. "Dwarves age differently to Hobbits. They come of age at 72 years, whilst Hobbits come of age at 33 years. That is why they're so worried, though I still believe they are overreacting over this whole thing."  
  
"Why are they worried so over my age?"  
  
"Children are more precious to Dwarves than any stone or metal the Earth has to offer. To them, you are a child. They probably feel regret at your signing it. Heaven knows what they'll do now. Probably assign Dori to you."  
  
"Do I look like a child to you?" Bilbo asked.  
  
"Well..."  
  
Bilbo looked at the Wizard's twinkling, blue eyes and allowed himself to smile. Trust Gandalf to find the situation funny. "My poor father's probably spinning in his grave."  
  
"Your mother would find this whole occurrence terribly amusing, Bilbo."  
  
Bilbo chuckled. "She would."  
  
Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder. "Know this. The Dwarves will not harm you. You must try and trust them. Particularly as this guardianship is going to occur."  
  
"Can't you be my guardian?"  
  
"I won't always be there. Of course, I will be with you, but not always. They will be keeping that in mind, you see."  
  
"Where will you be going?"  
  
Gandalf huffed a small laugh. "Problems to deal with arise all the time, my dear Hobbit. I do not know what they are yet. Don't be afraid when I am not there. They will protect you."  
  
"Lad!" someone called from the room they'd vacated. "Come here, a minute, would you?"  
  
Gandalf stood, smiling down at Bilbo. "Best be off now, Bilbo. Remember what I told you."  
  
As Bilbo made his way to the Dwarves, he briefly wondered if, wherever she was, his mother was indeed laughing.


	2. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gloin soon finds that hobbits are very good at escaping. Bilbo discovers something unexpected about dwarves.

Gloin was going to kill the Wizard. He'd waxed lyrical about the courage of Hobbits, but he'd sorely neglected to tell them one thing.

_The curiosity._

Well, if he didn't kill the Wizard first, he'd certainly kill the Hobbit. Blasted creature, getting himself lost every five seconds. Bofur, who wasn't even the guardian of said Hobbit, was going mad with fear every time it happened and Gloin was about ready to cut his losses and simply hold onto the pony of the lad's reins if he got himself lost again. Oin's snickering wasn't helping matters.

"For the love of the Maker," Gloin muttered. "Stop your cackling, you mad old goat. This isn't funny."

"It reminds me of all the times you got lost as a beardling," snorted Oin. "And, now you know what it's like to worry over someone like this."

"You know, Gimli never wandered off!"

"He's barely been out of Ered Luin!" Oin reminded him.

"You could help here. Technically, he's under your guardianship too."

"Aye, when you're not here, he is. But for now, he's all yours." Oin replied, grinning like a loon. "You should enjoy the experience while you can."

Gloin glared at him and began calling for Bilbo for the twelfth time that day.

* * *

 

Bilbo didn't feel at all happy with their choice of guardian. Gloin may very well have been nice enough to those who knew him, but he barely said anything to Bilbo and when he did, he sounded sharp and bitter. He didn't wish to stay close to someone who didn't want him so close and decided to stay out of his way. At least until they got to know each other better. Unfortunately, Gloin didn't like that very much. He kept muttering about 'going to get lost' and now had a hold of Myrtle's reins, so staying away wasn't an option anymore. Glancing towards the serious-looking Dwarrow, Bilbo internally sighed.

It was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

 

It wasn't that Gloin disliked Bilbo. Quite the opposite, really. He just didn't know what to do with him and he wasn't happy that the lad kept escaping from him. At Thorin's order to stop, he released Myrtle's reins, glad to finally be free of that part of his duties. Surely Bilbo wouldn't wander off now.

Oin thumped his arm. "You daft pillock, why don't you talk to him? No wonder he kept going away."

Gloin snorted. "He should be staying where he is, _regardless_ of what goes on."

"Well, it wouldn't kill you to get to know him," Nori said.

"I never asked your opinion." Gloin said. "And I'll thank you to keep it to yourself, Nori."

"I'm only saying," Nori continued, ignoring Gloin's earlier statement, "that it would do more good than harm to talk to him a bit."

"Aye. Nori's right, there." Oin said, nodding agreeably.

"We get on fine." Gloin said, firmly.

Nori sputtered. "Fine?! He looks like a mouse next to a cat!"

"Aye. And you looked like you were about to kill 'im most of the day."

"Oh," Gloin muttered. "You pair of conniving, miserable..."

"Well," said Nori in a conspirational manner, "Dori noticed. So, unless you want him breathing down your neck about it-"

Gloin held a hand up, stopping the thief from continuing. "Alright! Fine, I'll go over now then."

Oin allowed himself another chuckle while Nori lightly shook his head. "Nori, how much would you like to bet that it goes badly?" "It could go quite well, I think." Nori answered, drawing a pouch out from his coat.

* * *

 

He'd simply asked the Hobbit to help him collect the firewood. A simple enough task and it gave him time to think of something to ask the creature. He considered for quite some time a topic to ask before finally deciding on one.

"Do you have any brothers?"

"No, I don't," Bilbo answered, wondering why Gloin was asking this of him.

 "Is it only you, then?"

"Yes. My mother and father didn't have any others."

"Ah," Gloin thought for a moment and continued. "It's amazing how many children some couples will have. You see some having six children and more. Incredible, isn't it?"

Bilbo nodded. "My mother was one of thirteen children and my father was one of five."

"What? Did your grandparents have nothing better to do?"

Ignoring that, Bilbo said, "it's normal for Hobbits to have large families. Don't you have large families?"

"Well, three children is considered a blessing. Four is all but unheard of. Five children is unthinkable and thirteen is an impossible number." "Why?" "Not enough lasses. And it's difficult thing to carry a child and give birth."

"There are Dwarf women?"

"Of course there are! What d'you think happens, that Dwarves come out of the stone?"

 

Back at the camp, everyone stilled in alarm as Gloin's voice bellowed, _"What do you mean, you thought they were a myth?!"_

Nori sighed as he handed over the coins. He really should have known it would end badly.

* * *

 

"Our dear mother is a myth, is she?" Fili asked, lightly nudging Bilbo.

"Well, that is a shame, isn't it? I rather thought she existed." Kili said, companionably standing beside their burglar.

"Stop!" Bilbo protested. "I meant no offence."

"We know that." Fili laughed, hooking an arm around Bilbo's shoulders.

"Yeah!" Kili confirmed. "Besides, everyone thought it was hilarious. Even Uncle!" "Gloin rather thought the opposite." Bilbo added in a rather small voice. "It's alright," Kili said, anxious to bring a smile to their Hobbit. "We're going to help."

"We've actually instigated a bet with Ori and Bofur over who will be first to get Master Gloin and you to become closer." Fili revealed, his blue eyes glittering in all-too eager a way in the sun's dying orange light.

Deciding he would probably be better off trusting them with their help, Bilbo gave a nod. "What do you have planned?"

 

"For Mahal's sake." Oin groaned. "You can't hold that mistake against him, Gloin, you just can't."

"A myth, he said. A _myth_!"

"So, I take it you're miffed then?" Nori asked, a rather wolfish grin on his face.

"Oh, shut up, you daft sod." Gloin answered, though Nori's pun rather amused him.

"Bilbo is 39 and probably hasn't seen a male Dwarf before us," Oin said reasonably. "Do forgive him, 'cos I tell you, he won't trust you to look out for him if you keep getting angry with him."

While the two brothers bantered about it, Fili and Kili watched from a distance, their Hobbit sandwiched between them.

"Alright, Bilbo," whispered Fili. "Remember what we told you."

"Eye contact, look as sad as you can and end your apology with 'I hope one day you can forgive me'." Kili reminded him.

"Are you sure all this works with Thorin?"

"Yes," Kili replied.

"Now, off you go," whispered Fili. "Good luck!"

"Now, look, he's coming this way," Oin said. "I'm warning you, don't be an idiot."

"You dream of the impossible, don't you, Master Oin?" Nori drawled, grinning impishly at Gloin.

"Don't rile him up now, Nori. Quick, move!" With a last warning look at his younger sibling, Oin pushed Nori onward and left Gloin to meet their burglar.

It must have been quite the surprise to Nori and Bilbo, but Oin barely batted an eyelid as he watched Gloin's once rigid and angry poise transform into one of frankly sickening tenderness. The thing with Gloin was that he couldn't bear to leave a young one unhappy and unforgiven. He just could not do it, which made Bilbo's look of surprise all the funnier. Undoubtedly the Halfling found the whole debacle humorless and Oin spotted him darting poisonous looks over his shoulder to where Fili and Kili stood, as if to say, 'Now, look what you've gotten me into!'

"He should," Oin heard Nori mutter into his ear horn, "count himself lucky he's not being hugged so tightly he can't breathe. That's what happens when Dori forgives people." Clearly the star-haired Dwarf had gotten over his shock. Oin gave his shoulder a pat and turned away. He had more important things to be getting on with after all.


	3. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo learns about the Battle of Moria and Gloin finds that hobbits may just have the quickest wits he's ever seen.

It was a very dark night indeed. The amber flickering of the fire did little to ward off the surrounding blackness, yet it helped them see where to lay down their loads in what dim light they had. Gloin kept a watchful eye on Bilbo as he tossed and turned on his bedroll. Bombur was sleeping barely yards from him, and Gloin sympathised greatly, for Bombur rested on his back.

He snored  _exactly_ like one of Dain's prized boars.

Eventually Bilbo tired of his failed attempts to sleep and stood, stretching his arms high above his head, before padding off to the ponies. Gloin watched him go. He didn't fuss like Dori, but he never felt quite happy when Bilbo was alone with the ponies. The creatures were gentle , but they were bigger than the Halfling and stronger too, he'd wager.

Bilbo was taking something out of his pockets.  _'Little rascal!'_  thought Gloin  _'taking rations and-'_

Giving it to his pony.

He turned his head away, hiding a smile. What tender-hearted little creatures Shirelings truly were. But still, he realised, they couldn't keep having this, even if it was a nice thought. Resolving to discuss it with him at a later date, he swiftly turned his head back at a sound of high-pitched howling.

"What was that?" Bilbo wanted to know, quickly heading over. Gloin could hardly blame him, in the case of danger, he was definitely best off with them.

"Orcs," Kili said, his face serious.

Gloin looked over at his younger kin, fighting the urge to shake his head at Kili's answer. Perhaps there were dangerous creatures out, he thought, placing his palm on the handle of his ax.

"They strike in the wee, small hours when everyone's asleep," Kili went on. "Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."

Bilbo was glancing around, suddenly pale.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" Thorin asked.

Of  _course_  the fool had been joking. Gloin really should have known. To his credit, Kili looked repentant, lowering his head and murmuring apologetically to his uncle, who was less than pleased.

The calm tone of Balin's voice interrupted the sudden tense atmosphere. Gloin heard 'Defiler' and 'Moria' and blocked out the sound. He had no wish to be reminded of  _that_  part of his life as of this moment. Still, he glanced over at his elder cousin, who stood in the cold light of the moon, remembering his King's bravery.

Everyone was standing, looking over at Thorin. Ori looked as though his eyes were to roll out of his head, his quill dangling, forgotten in his mittened fingers. There were few who hadn't heard of Oakenshield's Battle, but every time the story was told, it garnered the same awed looks.

"-the Pale Orc? What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came," Thorin snarled. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

And a mighty good riddance, Gloin internally decided.

Everyone went back to their previous positions, the only difference being that Bilbo followed Bofur to where Nori had been casually laying, watching Balin speak.

"I think your dear little brother has been keeping our burglar awake," Nori told Bofur.

"Well, I'm sure Mister Gloin wouldn't be opposed to Bilbo sleepin' by him," Bofur answered cheerily.

One of these days, Gloin was going to take Bofur's hat and beat him over the head with it. It was bad enough he had Oin tossing and turning by his side all night, without adding their equally fidgety Hobbit into the mix.

"Oh, sure! One roll in the wrong direction and we'll be without our burglar." Nori said, giving Bilbo a brief glance.

Bofur's laughing echoed throughout the camp.

* * *

It was Bilbo's own fault for coming so unprepared, Gloin told himself a few weeks later. The weather in the lad's Shire was probably lovely all the time, but that was no excuse.

Fancy going travelling without a cloak, for Mahal's sake.

Still, he looked uncomfortable, sitting on the pony, tiny rivers of rain trickling down his body. His once lively curls were now subdued, sticking to his head, an occasional lock of hair that was determined to keep itself noticed flicking up from the now dark hair on the Hobbit's head.

He looked completely  _drowned_.

Nevertheless, he remained silent about it. Probably because it was  _warm_ , despite the rain's finest efforts to coat them all in its icy torrent.

"'Ere, Mister Gandalf," Dori called out, "can you do something about this deluge?"

_Deluge_. Dori shared a love of using words such as that with his brothers, no matter how strongly Nori protested against the fact.

Gandalf looked back, a hint of a smile on his features before looking forward once more. "'Tis raining, Master Dwarf. And it will continue to rain until the rain is done!"

Dori didn't look too happy with that answer. Gloin couldn't blame him. This terrible weather was starting to annoy him as well.

"If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another Wizard!" Gandalf added.

"Are there any?" Bilbo asked, his interest peaked.

"Any what?"

"Other Wizards."

"There are five of us," Gandalf said. Gloin felt most grateful they only had one. If they'd had the Five, he'd no doubt  _they_ would bring a Hobbit along, too. "The greatest of our order is Saruman, the White. Then there are the two Blue Wizards."

"And who is the fifth?" Bilbo questioned. His once dampened expression had brightened considerably with this new conversation.

"That would be Radagast the Brown," Gandalf answered. "He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others."

"And is he a great Wizard or is he more like you?"

Gloin snorted, the sound barely covering Oin's sudden wheezes of laughter. Gandalf shot them a brief glance, blue twinkling eyes widened with the pull of a single, tufty eyebrow.

"I think he's a very great Wizard, in his own way."

As Gandalf chattered on about his Wizarding companion, Gloin wondered if he had brought Gimli along, would it be his lad saying funny little quips? By the Maker, Gimli would likely roll his eyes in annoyance if only he knew they'd brought a youngling, younger than himself, along on this quest.

What Gimli didn't know wouldn't hurt him, Gloin decided.

* * *

The days that followed were warm and filled with sunshine once more. It had truly gone from one extreme to the other, Bilbo thought. From gushing icy cold torrents of rain to belting down fierce rays of hot sun. Strange was the weather outside the Shire.

Gloin hmphed when Bilbo told him this. "Hardly what I'd call hot, lad."

"Have you been in _hotter_ places?" Bilbo asked, wide-eyed.

"I've worked with mines and furnaces most my life. You don't know true heat 'til you've stood in front of the roaring, red-hot flames of a furnace."

After that conversation, Bilbo suddenly displayed a colossal interest in the flowers by the path they were taking, asking Oin what they were. Their talk of petals and stems and properties of various plants was about enough to make Gloin die of boredom. Finally, blessedly they stopped, only to lose their Wizard barely minutes later.

Thorin's fault, Gloin didn't doubt. The Hobbit wasn't too happy about their loss, and Gloin caught his sharp, green eyes glancing 'round as if hoping to see the grey-robed male striding towards them only to look away in sorrowful disappointment when he did not. It was like watching a kitten being abandoned and some instinct in his body forced him into asking Bilbo to help him collect the sticks. Again.

The activity brought Bilbo's mind off Gandalf's disappearance which pleased his Dwarven companion.

"D'you think he'll be back soon?"

"Probably," answered Gloin. "Don't worry on it, lad, if anything dangerous comes our way you've got a band of warriors to protect you."

"I don't need protecting."

"That's not what you were saying at that spider in your bedroll this morning."

Bilbo gave him his best glare. "You promised to never mention it again!"

Gloin was unable to stop his laughter, only stopping when Bilbo hurled a twig his direction. "Now, then," he said. "There's no need to throw things around."

"There is with you lot!"

Gloin shook his head, unable to fight his laughter any longer. Bilbo watched him chortling, freeing his own laughter. Perhaps, he thought, having a guardian wasn't so bad after all.


	4. Trollshaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wizards are lost and Trolls are found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've played around with this chapter. It's a bit different to the one on FF.N

Bilbo was nervous. Gloin could see that with half an eye, yet most of the other companions barely noticed the way Bilbo's eyebrows knotted or the frequency he darted glances the direction Gandalf had taken barely a few hours before.

"Peace," Gloin murmured. "He shall return before you know it."

"Do you know," said Bilbo in a distracted tone, "that's  _precisely_  what my father told my mother last time Gandalf left with no warning?"

"Oh?"

"Yes. Had almost forgotten all about him by the time he eventually returned. _Sixteen years_  later."

Gloin took a breath from his pipe, blowing the strong-smelling smoke through the air as he spoke. "Hmm. I'm certain he'll be here soon enough. Don't panic about him, lad."

"Mmm," Bilbo knocked his own pipe against a tree, scattering spent ashes to the ground. "I'll see if Bofur needs help with anything."

It turned out Bofur did, sending Bilbo into the woods armed with two bowls of stew. Taking his eyes off the shrinking figure in the foreground, he went to accept his own supper from Bombur, surprised at the wonderful flavour once he sampled a spoonful.

"It's not a bad stew, Bombur," Gloin told him, gesturing with his spoon. "I've had worse!"

"Dori could've cooked it!" Nori howled, to the accompanying laughter of their kin.

"Hilarious," Dori said, rolling his eyes at the antics of his younger brother.

Gloin noticed the hidden smile on the elder Dwarf's features and went back to his seat, quietly chuckling. Looking over at the woods Bilbo had disappeared into, he wondered how long it would be until he returned.

* * *

Mahal  _above_... This was... This was..

Gloin pushed at his fabricated prison, growling as it did not break. Ceasing his movement, he lay, panting, trying to recall exactly how their capture had occurred.

Bilbo had gone to give Fili and Kili their dinner. He'd not come out, but Fili had. Trolls had been mentioned as well as the sentence, "The Trolls have Bilbo!" A feeling akin to the cold of ice had swept its way through Gloin's body. Weapons had been drawn and they'd followed Fili to the beasts, arriving just in time to witness Kili catching Bilbo in his arms.

And then they'd attacked.

It was a fine and vicious fight. The Trolls were more badly hurt than they were and they could have won had it not been for the fact that the scum had threatened  _his_ Hobbit.

No,  _their_ Hobbit.

Either way, Bilbo had been in danger and it had taken several heartbeats for them all to lay down their weapons, though Bilbo had not asked them to.

The fact still remained, however, that they were in an awful situation and if they survived it, Gloin was going to be having words with their burglar.

"You are making a terrible mistake!" Bilbo said, giving the Trolls what Gloin was certain, was a stern look.

"You can't reason with them, they're halfwits!" Dori called over.

"Halfwits? What does that make us?" Bofur asked.

"I, er, meant with the seasoning..."

And Gloin listened in shock and indignation as the Halfling  _suggested_ recipes for the Trolls to use. To  _eat them_. And then he mentioned skinning and Gloin lost his temper completely, telling the Shireling  _he_ would be the one skinned. Somehow.

There was disagreement between the Trolls and Bilbo. One of them said he preferred Dwarves raw, to which Gloin hid a cringe, before he started hoisting Bombur up by the feet to Bilbo's horror.

"N-not that one, he... he's infected!"

There was a pregnant pause, the silence broken courtesy of one of the Trolls questioning what he'd heard.

"He's got worms.. in his... tubes!"

The lack of confidence in Bilbo's lie made Nori shake his head, Gloin noticed from the corner of his eye. Oh, Mahal. Save them all if Nori taught Bilbo how to lie. They'd never be safe again.

As the Troll unceremoniously dropped Bombur, Bilbo hastily added, "In fact they all have. They're  _infested_ with parasites..."

As the lad hurried on, Gloin began to feel concerned. Had he knocked his head or something?

"Parasites? Did he say parasites?" Oin asked.

"Yes, he- We don't have parasites!  _You_  have parasites!" Kili declared.

"What are you talking about, laddie?" Gloin called over, deciding he wanted to know the answer  _before_ getting devoured by Trolls.

Without explanation, Thorin gave a not-so-subtle kick, shooting a stare at all he could see, his eyes glancing from Bilbo to his Company, warning them to agree.

Oin started. "I've got parasites as big as my arm!"

As the rest of the Company agreed, one of the Trolls looked highly suspicious before stomping over to Bilbo, glowering fiercely at him.

"I don't believe you," he warned, pointing a thick, scarred digit directly at the Hobbit.

"I'm telling the truth." Bilbo answered. The finger lunged at Bilbo, knocking his shoulder. It must have been painful for he hissed sharply and paled.

The beast probably would have had a lot more to say on the matter had an angry voice not interrupted.

"The Dawn shall take you all!"

* * *

There was not much time to speak with Bilbo. Between Troll hoards, slightly inane Wizards, and the bloodthirsty Orc pack on their trail, Gloin couldn't find the time to discuss it. He stayed close by Bilbo, not wanting to lose him. It wouldn't have mattered to spend a few minutes away, Bofur, Oin and Nori weren't far , but that was well beside the point.

They would  _not_  be losing their burglar again.

Now, they were all collected in a type of underground cavern, a narrow tunnel at its back. As they all went through, following each other, he kept the Halfling directly in front at all times. Bilbo was unused to places so hard, with sharp protrusions from the surfaces. He hailed from the gentle earth, not the rough stone they were accustomed to.

He kept touching at his own shoulder, tenderly and regularly. The brute had obviously done some damage to him and Gloin felt like turning back and smashing their stone-turned bodies into smithereens with his ax. He reached to touch it, trying to assess the problem only for Bilbo to pull away.

"You are hurt," he said.

"I'll live." Bilbo answered.

"Hmm. I'll look when we stop, lad."

Bilbo grimaced. " _Excellent, nearly get them all eaten and then get yourself hurt and possibly hinder the journey,"_ he thought grimly to himself.  _"Good job, Bilbo!"_

How angry was the Dwarf? His papa was a one to discuss problems immediately, yet Bilbo hadn't heard a thing from his guardian. It couldn't be that he didn't mind the incident. Yet, he didn't seem angry. He didn't  _sound_ it and his contact had been astonishingly gentle for one so gruff.

Perhaps it was just the way of Dwarves, he decided. Gazing back up at the winking sunlight through the cracks above them, he wondered, not for the first time, just where they were all headed.


	5. Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A healer's work is never done...and neither is a guardian's.

"'Ere, don't go to the baths just yet, lad. Gloin said your arm was hurting you."

Gloin's eyes were fixed upon them. Looking into Oin's equally black eyes, Bilbo shook his head. "My shoulder."

"I see. Off with your shirt, then, we'll have a look."

It was fortunate none had refused the rooms they'd been offered, for Bilbo would have been horrified at the prospect of stripping off in public,  _here_  of all places. Though, his Dwarven companions  _certainly_  hadn't minded. He shuddered as he felt his arm move back as Oin poked his shoulder.

"How badly did it hurt when it happened?" Oin asked.

"It hurt a lot, but I think its alright now-"

Oin wasn't convinced. "I'm going to try something, and it might hurt. Keep still."

Bilbo jerked away as the healer slowly pulled at his shoulder, grimacing at the jarring pain from the sudden movement. "What are you doing?"

Finished with his assessment, Oin released him. "You'll be fine soon enough. A sprain, not any call for amputation as my brother feared."

"Feared?" Bilbo repeated. "He doesn't fear anything!"

Oin exchanged a knowing look with his brother, shaking his head. "Hmm. Be off with the pair of you, then. You," he pointed at Bilbo. "Don't strain yourself. No running after anyone. Do  _not_ aggravate that shoulder!"

* * *

Gloin feared a lot of things. He'd been deathly afraid during his wife's pregnancy. He'd been afraid during the birth of his son. He'd been truly terrified when Gimli had discovered his ax and started running about with it. He'd been scared during his first battle, which had happened long before he'd even thought of having a family. He hadn't been fearful of anything to do with the quest, confident in his abilities, confident with all the people he travelled with.. right up until they met the Trolls and it became clear that it would be very,  _very_ easy for Bilbo to die.

And that thought frightened him beyond words.

He glanced over, watching as the Halfing quickly dunked himself under the water, coming up , shaking his head so wet curls sprung diamond-like droplets of water everywhere. At that moment, it hit the Dwarrow just how soft and... fragile the younger being was. He'd likely never been in such a danger before and, though it wasn't his fault, the redhead felt a twinge of guilt that the lad been dragged along on this venture. Recalling the events of last night reminded Gloin of the questions he had to ask, and so he began;

"What happened?"

Bilbo started. He'd not expected him to speak in the quiet of the room. "I'm sorry?"

"What happened," Gloin repeated, "that ended with you alone with three Trolls?"

Bilbo supposed that saying, 'nothing!' really wasn't an option. "I- we were trying to get them back."

"By yourself?"

"I didn't think I'd get caught." Bilbo murmured.

"You should  _always_  expect the unexpected!" Gloin chided. "T'is only fortunate, you're not  _badly_  hurt! What made you go over there?" He had a suspicion what, or rather  _who_ , had made Bilbo face them, but he wanted confirmation before he tore the heads off people.

Bilbo frowned, thinking. "I know what it is you believe," he said at last. "But they're not the whole reason."

As he fell once more into silence, Gloin started thinking. He thought of memories of going away to battle, though the age was too young, all in order to impress kin and retake a lost kingdom. "Am I right," he asked, "in guessin' you went to the Trolls to prove your... capabilities?"

He'd really have to thank Dori for teaching him that word. It seemed to sum everything up perfectly if the astonished look in the Shireling's eyes was anything to go by.

"Yes," Bilbo admitted, looking downwards. He found himself unable to look into the depths of the black eyes that had been looking into his own.

Gloin tutted. "By the Maker. No one of us could have taken them back. You should have left them where they were, whacked those idiots over the head, and come back to tell us what was happening."

Bilbo's eyes were woeful. "I'm sorry. I never meant for all that to happen."

"-Never been so embarrassed in all my life!"

Gloin rolled his eyes as the annoyed voices of the Ri clan came closer to the building. "They sound happy." He ruffled Bilbo's hair, and moved back through the water, leading Bilbo with him.

"What is it? Why are we moving?"

"You'll know soon enough," Gloin answered.

"'ang on a minute.  _Kili_ did it too!"

" _You_ are  _not_ Kili, Nori!" Dori raged on.

Bilbo heard the doors open and the argument became more clear. Gloin shook his  head.

"Trust him!"

"It's rude and so humiliating! I thought I brought you up better than that, Nori!" Dori raged at Nori who serenely  walked  on, deaf to his brother's anger.

"What's the matter?" Gloin asked.

"All I did," Nori said before Dori could say anything, "was greet one of our hosts."

"You didn't  _greet_  him, you  _chased_  him!  _And_ you were naked."

Nori lifted his chin. "Thorin approved," he said pointedly. "Anyway, he," he pointed at his elder brother, "wasn't having any of it. Bad luck for the Elf, eh?"

Bilbo attempted to hide a laugh. "Did you really, Nori?"

"He did," Dori muttered, shooting his brother a dark look. "Thorin was no help at all. He  _cheered_ , can you believe..."

Gloin didn't bother hiding his approval of the story. "I wish I'd seen that!"

"I wish I  _hadn't_!" Dori said.

Nori's eyes narrowed. "Allow me to wash away that memory then!" he declared before shoving at his elder sibling with all his might. He roared with laughter as his attack succeeded, joy shining in his olive green eyes.

"You brat!" Dori gasped as he came up for air. With a surprisingly fast movement, he snatched hold of Nori's ankle, grinning at his revenge.

"Dori, my hair!"

"Well, it serves you- No! Not my beard! NORI!"

As his brothers squabbled, Ori made his way to Gloin and Bilbo, shedding his layers and quickly entering. "Oh, this is nice."

"Thought the fountains might not have enough room," Gloin said.

"Master Balin says we'll have to go soon. Elf Lord wants us to have dinner with him."

Gloin snorted. "Oh, brilliant. What fun that will be."

Ori shrugged. "It could be."

Frankly, Gloin thought as he watched Nori and Dori tussle, this would probably end up being the most enjoyable part of his day.

* * *

Bilbo's shoulder was hurting again. A long, pinching ache that had him moving this way and that in his bed. The sheets got tangled around his legs and he sat up, hissing at the shooting pain through his shoulder. He threw back the sheets and lay back.

Brilliant. Now the pillows felt as though they were made of stone.

He heard a scraping sound. Turning his head, his sore eyes flinched at a flare of warm, strong light.

"Can't you sleep?" Gloin asked tiredly.

"It's uncomfortable," he admitted. "I'll be used to it soon. Sorry for waking you."

"In truth, I wasn't sleeping," Gloin told him. "So, don't worry yourself. Are you in pain?"

"It aches."

"Sleep on your back," Oin mumbled.

"I've tried, but-"

"Alright, alright," Gloin interrupted, abandoning his own bed. "I'm used to this sort of thing..."

"Over a hundred years of being an older brother and over sixty of being an uncle, and I'm not," Oin muttered. "We'll see, now , whether you're truly used to this sort of thing."

Bilbo heard the grumbled words of, "unfaithful old devil!" as Gloin made his way over. "Are you on your back or side?"

"My side."

"Turn over, lying on your side only makes things worse, you know."

Doing so, Bilbo made out the glinting light thrown off Gloin's hair beads. "You sound like you've experience."

Gloin nodded. "You could say that, aye."

Oin muttered something about trees and foolhardy Dwarflings.

"Why did you kick your blanket off for?" Gloin asked, throwing it back over Bilbo. "Keep it on, otherwise you'll shiver all night and  _he_ won't be happy if you bugger up that sprain any further."

"It clicks when I move it."

"Well, don't move it then!"

"Now, then," Oin said reproachfully. "Don't go losing your patience.  _You_ used to charge about the place even with broken  _bones_ , if I recall right."

"You're  _not_  helping."

"I'm not here to help."

"No, you're here to be a pain in the- are you comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you." Bilbo moved his aching joint, wincing at the click.

"What did I tell you about- Brother, what is so amusing to you?"

"Nothing," Oin answered and Gloin was just certain his brother was positively beaming with mirth at their predicament.

Gathering up the last of his patience, Gloin looked back down at Bilbo. "Sleep well. See you in the morning."

Murmuring the same back, Bilbo closed his eyes, only to open them again at a yelp of 'Gloin!' and a very false apology. Smiling as he closed his eyes again, he wondered if the pain would be gone by tomorrow.


	6. Aim and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo discovers archery and Gloin tells him something surprising.

Bilbo wondered how he'd gotten himself into this situation. He really should never have wandered off from Gloin. Had he known this would end up happening, two blue-eyed, dark-haired, innocent-looking (though he knew they were anything but that!) Elf twins trying to teach him about bows, he never would have gone.

"Have you ever held a bow before?"

Looking up at the mischievous, identical faces of the Elven twins, Bilbo shook his head. "No, I haven't."

As if by magic (or perhaps because of those billowing, silky sleeves) one of the twins produced a bow. It was huge, perhaps even larger than the little Hobbit gawking at it, and was made of a smooth wood, a fine string stretched out, shining in the sun.

"Hold it," the Elf said, "like this, yes, that's - no, more grip... perfect!"

The other Elf handed him an arrow. He and his brother looked positively overjoyed with themselves and Bilbo started feeling suspicious.

"What are you planning?"

"Planning? Nothing!"

"You just look like a little, light-haired version of Estel, our brother," the one who had given the bow proclaimed. "He looks overwhelmed when he holds a bow too!"

"To you, Elladan, every child looks like Estel," one of the twins sighed. " _Perian_ , hold the arrow to the string, and when you feel the weapon straining, turn and release the arrow."

"Why?"

"We want to see if you can reach the target." Elladan said.

"What target?"

"The one we picked out."

Bilbo did as instructed, hoping he wouldn't end up breaking a statue or anything similar. The Dwarves would likely find it amusing if he did, but he rather thought Lord Elrond would think differently. He turned, released the arrow and gasped.

It wasn't heading towards a statue. It was aiming itself to Bofur's head. The twins had probably thought it would be a funny thing indeed to shoot an arrow through the Dwarf's hat, but Bilbo knew exactly what kind of wrath would descend upon his curly head for shooting at it, by accident or not.

Elladan looked most distressed at the stream of curse words from the Dwarrow. "Oh, dear."

"I can't believe you! I travel with him, and I like him, why did you let me do that?"

"Thought it'd be funny," Elladan's brother murmured, ducking down and pulling his sibling with him. "Come, quickly, before he finds out it was us!"

"I don't think he saw you," Elladan whispered. "Give me the bow and run along. We'll see you later."

* * *

Bilbo had never thought Elves to be carefree creatures with quick laughter and mischievous ways. They'd always seemed noble, solemn people of beauty and wisdom. Elladan and his brother were beautiful, but they had about the same amount of wisdom as Fili and Kili did, he thought as he silently stole along to where he'd last seen his Dwarven company. Despite everything, he rather liked them and hoped he would see them again before leaving Rivendell.

"Unbelievable," Dori grumbled as he stitched the hole in Bofur's hat. "Unbe-bloody-lievable. I bet it was some immature Elfling poncing around with his father's bow."

"Well, we know it wasn't an attack, at least. We'd all be dead, if it was." Oin said reasonably.

By Bilbo's side, Gloin touched his elbow. "Let's look for some wood, lad. It's getting darker."

* * *

"Was the bow heavy on your shoulder?"

Bilbo stared at Gloin. "I'm sorry?"

"You came back behind Bofur looking so wretched, I thought he was going to go on a wild tangent on what happened," Gloin said mildly. "I knew at once that you had something to do with it, though he, it seems, doesn't."

"I- I didn't mean to. They came up, and-"

"Who's they?"

"Elladan and Elrohir. They started talking about bows and.. I didn't know Bofur was in the area."

"You should never shoot at anything unless you know what it is and why you're shooting it." Gloin told him. He took hold of Bilbo's shoulders, making eye contact. "If Bofur hadn't his hat on, what would have happened?"

Bilbo shuddered, but Gloin clearly expected an answer. "He...well, the arrow... It would have hurt him."

It would have done a lot more than hurt him, but it had been difficult for the Shireling to say what he had, so Gloin let it go. "Yes, it would." he moved a hand to cup Bilbo's head, disliking the intense sorrow on his features. "You should never have let them place it into your hands. If it hadn't worked so well, what if the arrow had shifted, gone straight up and then fallen down? You could have been hurt!"

"And Elladan and Elrohir?"

"I don't care about Elladan and Elrohir. I care about you, you idiot."

Bilbo blinked and Gloin wondered when he'd last been told anything like that. Certainly, he looked most astonished at the words.

"...Oh."

Bilbo still looked surprised by the revelation and uncertainly gazed down. Gloin removed his contact, and began to move away. He never had been able to deal with moments such as this and didn't have the first clue how to deal with it now. Soft footsteps and a light bump against his side made him look over, smiling slightly.

The feeling was mutual, then.

* * *

They weren't allowed wood, an Elf spouting rubbish about 'sacred trees', so they wandered 'round 'til they discovered a wooden table supporting a cloth and a vase which was removed before the table was lifted and carried back to camp.

"That looks like no log I've ever seen!" Bofur howled, his upset forgotten.

"They wouldn't let us have any wood!" Gloin called back.

"Ah, well." Bofur looked as though he was thinking up a particularly filthy joke. "You wouldn't want an Elf's  _wood_ anyway, if you get my meaning..."

The evening passed into a dark night swiftly. Stars dotted against the sky, tendrils of smoke dancing and twisting on the breeze and Oin borrowed Bofur's flute and played a song on it.

"Hey, he likes  _blowing_  your flute, Bofur!" Nori cackled, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

"Don't say that, you dirty..."

Oin finished his piece and rolled his eyes at the two younger Dwarves. "How you two ended up with such polite wee brothers, I may never know." He stood, handing the flute back to its owner. "Though, our _amad_ did know, the minutes you were born, that you'd be nowt but trouble!"

" _What_?"

"Who, us?" Bofur asked.

Bilbo's eyes felt heavy, but he wished to hear the rest of the brewing conversation between Oin, Nori and Bofur, so he leaned against Gloin and tried to look awake. Gloin chuckled.

"You're going to be out of it, soon."

"Mm. Not yet."

"You sound just like my lad," Gloin said, standing and helping Bilbo to his feet. "He's stubborn too."

"Just like you, I suppose." Bilbo yawned.

Gloin tsked, though he couldn't hide a smile. "Where did you get that thought from?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this one, though I'm not entirely sure that the Dwarves wouldn't have declared war on Rivendell...


	7. Leaving Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bifur and Bilbo bond. Gloin has a new name for Bilbo.

"Don't you dare bugger your shoulder up again."

"Yes, Óin."

"I shall be annoyed if you do."

"I'll be careful, I promise."

"Hmm." Óin gave Bilbo's shoulder a last, experimental touch. "Alright, then. Be off with you."

As Bilbo headed away, Glóin snorted to hear his lad mutter something about a "mother hen". Hopefully, nothing untoward would occur. Óin wouldn't be the only one unhappy if Bilbo managed to get himself hurt again.

* * *

As he rounded a corner, Bilbo almost jumped to hear the somewhat familiar sound of the Dwarven language. Turning, he smiled when he saw who'd spoken.

"Hullo, Bifur."

The Dwarf nodded in greeting and showed him his palm. In it lay a fuzzy caterpillar and he seemed fascinated with it, poking and pointing at the little creature who Bilbo thought was likely confused by the goings-on that had befallen him.

"That's a caterpillar."

Bifur looked down at the tiny animal. He then took Bilbo's hand, carefully placing his discovery inside the smaller hand of the Company's burglar. Linking his own thumbs together, he made his hands slowly wave, creating a butterfly illusion.

"Yes. He'll grow into a butterfly. Or a moth."

Bifur was looking expectantly at him. Bilbo studied the caterpillar with his orange-and-black striped fuzz, and then looked back at the Dwarrow. "You know, I think he may be a butterfly."

Bifur seemed happy with this answer and cupped his hands, placing them close to Bilbo's.

"Have you never seen a caterpillar before?"

Bifur nodded and then pointed at the one he now held before shaking his head.

"Just this one, you've never seen?"

Bifur nodded. He closed his hand over the little insect and lightly nudged Bilbo off, silently requesting the hobbit join him wherever he was going.

They ended back with the Company. Bifur headed straight to Óin, stopping only to tug on one of his cousin's braids.

"What's that, Bif?" Bombur asked as his cousin passed.

"A caterpillar." Bilbo answered as Bifur seemed to have not heard his cousin's question.

Óin groaned. "Not another of your blasted pets!"

Bifur smiled enthusiastically and made the healer have a look at his new treasure.

Bombur laughed quietly. "He loves animals. Always has."

"He's very gentle with the caterpillar. It'd be dead if Glóin held it, I'm sure."

Bombur burst out in heavy chuckles. "I'm not sure he'd agree! You're right, though. Our Bif is mighty gentle."

Looking over at where Bifur was trying, and mostly failing, to make Óin hold the tiny insect, Bilbo had to agree.

* * *

"Bilbo? Wake up, my lad. It's time to head on."

"Mm. Glóin?"

"Aye, I'm here. Up now."

Tiredly, Bilbo obeyed, though his vision swum. Why had he stayed out so late with Elladan and Elrohir?  
Glóin's hands wrapped themselves around his arms, helping him off the bed. Bilbo was so dozy, he staggered and his legs wobbled, and he would've wound up on the floor had Glóin not had the presence of mind to continue holding him.

"I can stand now, thank you. Where are we going?"

"The Mountains," answered Glóin, throwing Bilbo his clothes. "Hurry and get dressed, lad."

Bilbo did, though he still had questions. "Why so early?"

"Gandalf is keeping the Elves busy. We don't have much time. You ready?"

"Yes," Bilbo said, securing his last waistcoat button.

"Here, put your jacket on. Óin'd kill both of us if you went without. It's a tad cold out there."

Once the comforting weight of his jacket was covering his shoulders, Glóin handed him his pack and whispered to him to keep as silent as he was able. Together, they stole out of their room, meeting several other members along the way.

At the end of the day, there was a general collapse. Thorin rolled his eyes, yet allowed them their rest, for they'd been walking since the early hours and he knew they would be up soon enough.  
He sat by his nephews. Kíli made an effort to move, leaning against his uncle's shoulder, his elder brother deciding to follow suit.

In fact, around the camp, everyone was using their kin as something to lean upon as they regained their strength. Thorin smiled softly and tucked an arm 'round his sister-sons.

"Brother, how is the lad faring? He looked so exhausted, I feared he would fall to the ground and never get up again!"

"I'm right here and I'm well, thank you." Bilbo mumbled from where he half-lay at Glóin's side.

Óin didn't look very convinced and Glóin glanced over at Bilbo to appease his brother.

"Just tired, like all of us."

Thorin was trying to rouse his nephews. "We'll set up now. Fíli, please let go. You too, Kíli."

Glóin lightly pushed Bilbo who was leaning on his shoulder. "Come on. Sooner we rise, sooner we can eat and retire to our bedrolls."

"What's for dinner tonight?" Kíli asked.

"It'll be  _you_ , if you don't get off your arses." Bofur said, standing and helping Bifur to his feet.

"Bofur!" Thorin reprimanded. Then he looked at his nephews. "He is right, however. If you get up, you won't go into the stew pot."

"You treat us like beardlings." Kíli muttered, throwing his calm-faced uncle a baleful look.

"Hmm." Thorin ruffled his hair. "Are you too tired to scout the area?"

"Right, let's see if there's any branches worth collecting." Glóin said.

Óin smiled to himself as Glóin led Bilbo off. To think his brother had had qualms about his parenting skills, once upon a time before Gimli was born.

To bad their old Da was no longer around to see it.

* * *

"What hijinks did those two devils get up with you last night?"

"They were telling me of Dwarves, actually."

Glóin wondered what horrors the two pointy-eared princelings had told the Hobbit. "Oh, yes? What did they have to say?"

Bilbo grinned. "They said you have skin as hard as your heads."

Glóin furrowed his eyebrows at him. "I don't suppose you  _laughed_ , did you?"

"I would never." Bilbo replied, though Glóin spied a little spark in his eyes.

"You can't trust a creature with pointed ears to not be mischievous," Glóin light-heartedly grumbled. "Fetch up that stick by there, would you?"

"Elladan and Elrohir were alright," Bilbo said, adding the stick to his pile. "Though, I think Lord Elrond and Thorin would have had their hands full if they met Fili and Kili."

Glóin chortled softly. "T'was only because of Thorin they didn't plan any mischief together."

"Why not?"

"Can you imagine he'd want his sister-sons fraternizing with Elves?"

"I'd forgotten your strange dislike of the Elves."

"It's not strange at all,  _pundurith."_

The name had slipped out without Glóin's consent, however he was grateful for its appearance as the word had riled up Bilbo's curiosity, saving them from arguing over the pros and cons of friendships with Elvenfolk.

"What's a  _pundurith_?"

Maintaining as innocent an outlook as he was able, Glóin lifted another branch and tugged Bilbo's arm, gesturing him back to camp. "That's for you to find out yourself."


	8. Ascension and Descension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mountains are climbed. Fires are made. Cuddles are had.

Hobbits, Glóin decided, truly weren't built for mountainous climbs. The near vertical climb up the mountain face was not easy, even for them, Óri nearly skidding downhill once or twice, Balin needing to stop and breathe every couple of hours and their burglar struggled worse than they did, though he bore the sharp terrain well despite his bare feet.

Fortunately, this mountain would not take long to scale. If they kept their pace going, they would be at their desired path by sunset.  
Looking back, Glóin saw that their hobbit looked dead on his feet. He was gasping for air and Glóin knew he needed to rest, so stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Take some time to breath,  _pundurith_."

Bilbo did, though he looked no less exhausted, he clearly felt better for his stop. "How much further?"

"Just a few hours."

Bilbo managed a smile. "You said that a few hours ago."

Glóin shook his head, smiling back at him. "Well, it weren't a lie, my lad."

Bilbo allowed himself to lean into Glóin for several moments. "Thank you."

"Don't worry on't."

"Burglar, hurry up!" Thorin snarled from where he waited before them.

Glancing towards his cousin he narrowed his eyes at the icy stare headed Bilbo's way. The hobbit didn't appear to notice, yet Glóin saw.

And he didn't like it.

* * *

The top of the mountain had a narrow, yet reasonably flat surface before it sloped downwards again. There was no wood to be seen, which was a shame, but at least they'd had the foresight to collect as much as they could before making their ascent upwards.

"Why don't you use matches?" Bilbo asked, watching in fascination as Glóin attempted to make sparks fly.

"Matches get wet. Also, once you learn the skill you never want to lose it."

Bilbo watched gravely before looking at Glóin. "Are you certain you ever had the skill?"

Glóin scowled at him. "You cheeky little devil! No, don't you dare laugh, or so help me, I'll.."

"Set me aflame?"

Glóin muttered darkly before looking triumphantly at Bilbo when his tinderbox finally did its job. "Looks like that's a possibility now!"

Bilbo laughed. "I was wrong, it seems. Forgive me for doubting your fire-making skills."

"I do," Glóin assured. "Though I'll lob you off this mountain if you suggest such a thing again!"

* * *

The mountain offered a beautiful view of the stars, but the clear night was very cold. They slept close to the slowly flickering fire, one or two sleeping curled up with a brother (or cousin).  
Glóin had Bilbo sleeping between him and Óin, a thing the hobbit was glad he'd been glared into doing. The brothers offered protection against the occasional, bitter breezes and due to their uncanny knowledge of just about everything he was thinking, they'd swiftly discovered he was shivering and placed their heavy cloaks over the blankets strewn over them already.  
He was strongly reminded of camping trips with his parents. Óin breathed softly in sleep as Bungo Baggins once had and Glóin was as easily concerned as Belladonna Baggins had been, though he hid it better than she had. Not much better, however, if the heavy Dwarven arm over his chest was anything to go by.

He really had to remember to tease him about it in the morning.

He turned over, facing Óin. Strange was it, he thought, how all the Took clan had boisterous, rich accents and he'd wound up with a guardian - and his brother - who had the same accent that had told him incredible stories as a fauntling.  
He'd loved his family, Tooks and Baggins, but he'd been too much of the other to truly belong with either clan.

Did Dwarves have that problem? Feeling outcast because they weren't really accepted in families because they resembled one parent too much?

Probably not, he realised. Take the brothers Ri for an example. Nori was as different from his brothers as he could possibly be, yet they adored him and he adored them.

_They were all different to each other_ , he thought,  _yet their family don't mind it_.

Why couldn't his own family be the same?

* * *

It was like walking in the clouds, Bilbo thought. The Mountains were so tall and the mist so thick, it was truly as though they could have touched the sky. However, the height of the Mountains terrified the life out of Bilbo and when they descended down a thin trail to a new path lower down the Mountains, he gripped tightly onto Glóin's shoulders and silently prayed to any Valar listening that he wouldn't die.

"Come now, it's sturdy and strong. You will not fall, that's right, keep to the rock..."

Thorin's eyes were nearly slits. "Have you never climbed a hill before?"

"Funny enough, hills are slightly different to mountains," Bilbo retorted, loosening his hold on Glóin's shoulders and moving faster now that the surface was more or less flat.

"No harm done," Glóin said. "At least it isn't raining!"

He regretted those words several days later.

* * *

There was a storm raging on the Misty Mountains. The path they walked upon shook in the rain, the wind and the hale that roared down upon them and Glóin made certain that Bilbo stayed directly in front of him where he could keep an eye on him while keeping a hand on his shoulder to ensure his charge didn't fall from the increasingly slippery, sodden pathway. The Hobbit didn't enjoy the trek much either and kept a small hand firmly closed over Glóin's larger one.

They had been taking this direction for over three weeks. Before the Mountains, the weather hadn't been too bad to begin with and there had been woodlands and streams to catch food from as well as collect wood and sweet, clean water for their journey, but the warmth was long gone as was the dryness. There were small caverns in the Mountain's walls and they burrowed in them at nights, keeping close for warmth.

That was the other thing.

Glóin and Óin loved each other dearly, but they were not and had  _never_ been as.. close as say Fíli and Kíli were in their sleep. Or Bifur and his cousins. Or Óri and his brothers. They liked their own space and bickered fiercely if the other went too close, so as a rule they kept a minimum of two inches apart if the weather was cold.

That was no longer an option.

To begin with, Bilbo hadn't liked the idea of  _snuggling_  with people at night, claiming that it was 'childish', until Glóin had folded his arms and glared at him with such ferocity, Bilbo had agreed.

Their burglar got very, very cold. So cold, he threw any caution he had to the considerable wind and curled up as close as he could to whomever he deemed warmest. And it was  _always_  Glóin. The Dwarf blamed his impressively thick hair. Óin blamed his impressively thick waist. Glóin knew it was his hair. Why? He was awoken once in the early hours by Bilbo inadvertently yanking on it.

The first time it happened, he considered waking the burglar up and demanding to know just what he thought he was playing at. Then he remembered that Hobbits didn't seem to care for hair as much as Dwarves did. Upon recalling this, he freed his beard, took hold of Bilbo's small, cold hands in his big, warm ones and went back to sleep, vowing to teach Bilbo about Dwarven hair customs.

He was awoken early by Bilbo exhaling, sounding louder than it truly was in the pre-dawn air. He nestled closer and, out of instinct, Glóin wrapped his arms around the smaller body, much to Bilbo's surprise.

"Did I wake you?" Bilbo asked.

"No. Well, yes, but that's alright."

Bilbo hid a yawn. "You look more serious than normal."

"No wonder, you little imp!" Glóin growled, though with no real heat. "Must you always pull on people's beards?" he grumbled, the effect of anger ruined by the fact he was absent-mindedly stroking Bilbo's back. "It's terrible manners, young hobbit."

"I did not mean to," Bilbo whispered. "Is it really so terrible?"

"Yes, though I knew you never intended to do it." Glóin paused, shifting Bilbo in his arms. "You see, beards are important in our culture. They're our pride, for they show how honourable we are."

"By pulling on it. What does it mean?"

"Well, usually it means you're trying to take honour off someone."

Bilbo gasped softly. "I'm sorry! I never meant-"

"I know, I know. Besides, your pulling is nowhere near strong enough to take it off!"

"Not a challenge, is it?"

Gloin was silent and Bilbo feared he'd insulted him. To his relief, the Dwarf chuckled, lowly and indulgently. "Little devil. Go back to sleep now."

* * *

Bofur seemed to be in 'hogging-a-halfling' mode the following day. Either that or he was more protective than the sons of Gróin had bargained for. Still, the fact remained that Bilbo was in safe hands, though Glóin couldn't help but miss his charge.

The day darkened along with his princely companion's mood. Lightning streaked and thunder crashed. The wind howled with the pitch of angry wolves and Glóin hoped Bofur hadn't taken it upon himself to tell one of his terrifying stories to Bilbo, for that would be no help at all.

Thorin stopped, nearly losing his balance. "Hold on!"

There was a sudden loud smash of stone hitting stone and Glóin heard Bilbo yell and turned his head sharply. He could just make out Óin moving towards where Bofur's hat shook in the fierce wind.

"We must find shelter!" Thorin called.

Glóin heartily agreed. The sooner they found a cave, preferably dry, the sooner he could get Bilbo to safety and warmth.

Stone began raining upon them and Glóin heard Bofur murmur something before sending up the panicked shout of, "Giants! Stone Giants!"

Thinking of his  _pundurith_ alone on a ledge, the creatures of rock hurling their boulders around, Glóin felt his heart freeze.

_Just how in Mahal's name were they going to get out of this one?_


	9. The Midst of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glóin has a confession. Bilbo learns something unexpected.

They were unfortunate enough to be standing right upon the very knees of a Stone Giant. Very unfortunate and their luck seemed to have changed when they were suddenly swung to the side of the ledge they needed to get on.

Then it turned out only half of them had escaped. Most of the others were still on the Giant's knees. If it hadn't been for Óin's careful grip on his shoulder, Glóin would have tried to stand on the very edge of the precipice, for hope of reaching Bilbo.

The Giant stumbled and crashed away from them, though their luck had changed for the better and they were on their side of the Mountain.

But did they still live?

'Round the twisting path they ran, calling desperately for their loved ones. Glóin halted as Thorin suddenly ceased his running. His King slumped and Glóin saw that there were the other half of their Company.

Alive.

"They're alive!" Glóin called, more for Óin's benefit than anyone else. He moved on, searching for a head of short curls, but only saw the long, sleek locks of Dwarves. Frowning, he turned 'round only to see the entire group huddling over the edge of the Mountain. He gaped, horrified.

" _No,"_ Glóin thought,  _"Please don't let my lad be hanging for his life. Please don't let it be him. Not my little_ pundurith _..."_

He could hear them calling Bilbo's name and could hardly breathe. This was worse than the time Gimli went into that mine shaft without his knowledge. This was pure terror.

He ran over, only to hear a collective cry of horror from the Company that did nothing to ease his fright. Thorin crouched down and jumped, holding onto the very edge.

Glóin near collapsed when he saw Bilbo coming back up. There was more fear in those green eyes than Glóin had ever seen him wear. The wind was whistling again, an awful high-pitched sound that drowned out any further sound before it could reach Glóin's ears. He saw Thorin getting helped back up, he saw his lips move and he saw Bilbo slump, looking so wounded that Glóin felt like demanding to know exactly what Thorin had said where they were, but Dwalin was pulling Thorin, pointing to the Mountain wall.

He straightened up. At the very least, they'd finally found shelter.

He went to help Bilbo up, deciding to ask what had been exchanged between him and Thorin once they were out of the storm. Bilbo all but collapsed against him. Gloin gently patted his shoulder.

"Come on, my lad. Let's get out of the rain."

* * *

The cave was good-sized and mercifully dry. Cool, sandy earth covered the ground and Glóin pointed Bilbo to a place in the cave where he could wait for him while he got the sticks out.

"Right! Let's get a fire started..."

"No. No fires," Thorin said. "Not in this place."

Bit of a shame, especially as their youngest looked as though they could do with the warmth, but Glóin supposed it was for the best. There could be terrible creatures living in the Mountains.

Gathering the sticks back up, he headed towards Bilbo, placing them on the ground. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

Glóin knew perfectly well that that was not true, and lightly tipped up Bilbo's chin. "Tell me,  _pundurith_. What's hurting you?"

That had an effect. His eyes started to shine, brightened by unreleased tears and he turned his head. "I don't want to talk."

Glóin really would have pushed the matter further, but it seemed there was a limit that Bilbo was fast reaching and he decided not to ask any further.  _Someone_  had to know what was bothering Bilbo so much.

"Alright, laddie. Sit down, I've a towel somewhere."

"Where did you get it?" Bilbo asked, looking up as he knelt.

"Gift from Nori. Shame I'll have to turn his attempts of a blooming romance down, eh?"

The corners of Bilbo's mouth flickered upwards.

_"Where has all the_ _banter gone?"_ Glóin wondered as he wrapped the towel 'round Bilbo's curls. " _And_   _he's_   _not even fighting being helped with things! What on Earth happened to him?"_

He was just so  _hurt_. He didn't seem to know what was going on either and Glóin felt another slice of fear for him. He would have liked to start up the conversation again, but that, he knew, would make things worse. He tousled his curls and went to see what dinner they had for that night, shaking his head slightly when he saw it was cram.

Bringing back some of the food, he tilted his head in surprise to see that Bilbo was curled on his side, facing away from them.

Asleep already? Now, that was strange.

"Bilbo? Lad, wake up-"

"Why do you bother, Glóin?"

* * *

He turned. Thorin's eyes were curious, fixed on his. "What d'you mean 'why do you bother'?"

"With him. He's no use to any of us. Should have rode faster from his little village."

" _You_  said something to him. What was it?"

"I said nothing untrue."

"Thorin..."

"He doesn't belong with Dwarves. He belongs with his own kind."

"Did you tell him he's not one of us? After what he's come through with us?"

"He didn't see the fall of Erebor with us!"

"He's here  _now_ , with us! He wants to help us, Thorin!"

"We don't need his help! We're better off leaving him in these Mountains than-"

Glóin had had enough. Snatching up his ax, he pointed it toward Thorin. "Don't you  _dare_  say that!"

Thorin wasn't afraid of the ax, perhaps knowing that no matter how angry his cousin was, he was safe from the possibility of the weapon being buried in his neck. Nonetheless, Dwalin was by his side in an instant.

"Do you care for him?"

"Aye. Like he were my own kin."

To his credit, Thorin didn't look at him condescendingly, though he lowered his voice. "Glóin, once we reclaim Erebor, where do you think he'll go? Stay with you, Lady Neoma and young Gimli? He won't. He may be a child to us, and he's certainly no old Hobbit, but he is no child Hobbit either. He can never be your son."

Glóin raised an eyebrow at Thorin. "You think I don't already know that? Of course I know he'll likely go back to his Shire!"

"Likely?" Now Thorin raised a brow. "He'll be tearing away soon as he can, cousin."

"You have a disturbing mistrust of that lad." Glóin muttered, lowering his ax. "You need to apologise to him."

"What?"

"You've hurt him, Thorin. If someone hurt Fíli or Kíli you'd have their heads off their shoulders."

The unspoken promise that Thorin would be the one finding his head no longer attached to his body hung heavy in the air.

"He's not yours to care for like this. Ensure he's safe. That's all."

Glóin ignored his cousin's last words. Instead, he lay on his bedroll and closed his eyes.

* * *

Sleep did not come to Bilbo that night. He had heard Glóin talking to Thorin and curled up tighter.  
He didn't know what else to do about Thorin. The Dwarf seemed to care so little and think even less of his burglar.  
Glóin, however...

He slowly sat up, careful to not awaken his Dwarven guardian.

'He can never be your son.'

That made no sense. Glóin had a son already and Bilbo had parents... Once. Then the Fell Winter happened.

He shivered and reached for his sword, touching its cover, following its lines as they wove around the leather.

Dwarves and Hobbits didn't mix. They were like onions and apples, similar size, but different in far too many ways.

His guardian had probably just been trying to make Thorin feel guilty.  
How could he be anything like kin to a Dwarf?

He silently crept off his bedroll. They didn't need him. Glóin wouldn't miss him. He was quiet as he secured his bedroll to his pack and lifted his walking stick from where it lay on the ground before moving onwards.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Ah, Bofur. He'd forgotten that the hatted Dwarf was on watch.

"Back to Rivendell." Stone Giants be cursed. Better to face them than Thorin.

"No,no,no no. You mustn't do that." Bofur told him pleadingly.

Poor Bofur looked stricken at the very notion. "I'm no use here, Bofur. Thorin was right..."

"Thorin's _never_ right! You have to stay with us. Glóin would go crazy if he lost you."

"Why, though? What's he got to lose if I go?"

"Well, he cares for you. You know he does."

Bilbo must have looked unsure, for Bofur 'hmmed' as though he knew something.

"Here, when a Dwarf says something, he means it. When Glóin said - yes, I know what he said! - that you are like his own kin, he meant just that."

"But he's.."

"Aye, you're different. So are all of us, but we love each other anyway."

"I know."

Bofur's eyes twinkled. "There you are, then! Go on, get to sleep or he'll be after you in t'morning."

Bilbo smiled and turned back, feeling cheered. If Bofur was right, then he had at least been fortunate with his informal adoption.

As he knelt, a ray of blue light shone from the hilt of his sword. Trembling, he took out his dagger, paling at its ethereal blue light.

_'It's of Elven make, which means it will glow blue when Orcs or Goblins are nearby.'_

They were in serious danger. Bilbo leaned over and starting frantically shaking his guardian's shoulder.

"Glóin! Glóin, wake up! Óin!"

"What is it?"

That was when the floor started creaking and cracking.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Goblin King remembers the death of his descendant. Bilbo and Glóin lose each other.

The descent into the mountain was treacherous as it was fearful. It was lucky Dwarves were tough and hardy, for Glóin shielded Bilbo without seeming to notice the unyielding stone.

They all landed in a heap of groans and yelps. Glóin hastily lifted Bilbo onto his feet, looking into his eyes, exploring his scalp.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

A shriek, then, a chorus of gibbering and howling came from the walls surrounding them. Glóin took hold of Bilbo's forearm, gripping his ax.

"Get your blade out, laddie."

"What are they?"

"Goblins. Stay in our centre. Don't let them see you if you can help it."

Bilbo fumbled for his sword, the weapon shining as brightly as a blue star. Glóin moved his grip to Bilbo's wrist and pushed him into the middle of the group as they ran and fought. There were too many. The Goblins were sly, tricky creatures and had their own, devilish blades that they sliced at the Company with, hissing with glee whenever they managed to score a hit. There were too many and though they didn't give up on the hope that they'd manage to beat away the things, they were overpowered, stripped of their weapons and herded over ancient, creaking bridges.

Memories of Gerontius Took lifting him on his knee to tell a tale came to mind. Gerontius liked telling his daughter's son of how his great-great-great-great uncle, Bandobras had single-handedly killed a Goblin King many years ago.

"Chopped off his head! Went flying, it did. Goblins were mighty pissed, I heard when I was first told."

"Will I meet a Goblin?" Bilbo had asked, gazing at his grandfather.

"Course not! You'll stay nice and safe in our home."

Oh, if Gerontius could see him now, he'd have a thing or two to say!  
Bilbo kept close to Glóin as they went on. Glóin was silent, but gently rubbed Bilbo's thumb with his. The comforting gesture was so reminiscent of Bungo, Bilbo swallowed to avoid tears from rising.

"What have you found?"

Looking up, Bilbo saw a terrifyingly large, wobbling Goblin. Upon his head sat a makeshift crown of thin bones and he had round bulbous eyes, staring down at them. Bilbo paled. So, this was the new king. How big had the last one been?

"Dwarves and that!"

"And what?" The Goblin King rumbled. "I see nothing but Dwarven filth!"

"Like 'e can talk," Nori quietly muttered.

Glóin pushed Bilbo further back.

"Well? Is there a non-Dwarf among you?" At the Dwarrow's cold silence, the Goblin King narrowed his eyes. "Shy, eh? Never mind, I'll make you talk. Fushfa, get that pretty one with stubble. We start with the youngest."

Fíli hauled Kíli closer. "You are going nowhere near him, you scum! Back!"

"Rare for Dwarves to have golden hair. Your head might make a nice trophy..."

"Stop!" Bilbo pulled away from Glóin and away from the hands pulling at him. "Leave them alone!"

Glóin tried to follow Bilbo, drag him back into the safety of the group, but was stopped by the serrated, rusting metal of a Goblin sword at his neck. Heart beating wildly, he prayed nothing bad would happen. The Goblins lowered their weapons and watched in glee as their King advanced upon the non-Dwarven captive.

"And what are you?"

"Neither Dwarf or Goblin." Bilbo answered.

The Goblin King scowled. "I ask you again. No funny business this time!"

"I'm a halfling."

"Half of what?"

"Nothing."

"I'LL MAKE HALF OF YOU, IF YOU DON'T ANSWER PROPERLY!" The Goblin King roared. "You..." There was silence.  
And then comprehension shone in pale eyes. "A child of the West, you are. A descendant of Bullroarer?"

"What was he, a friend of yours?"

Glóin couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. That irresponsible young devil! If they got out of this alive and well, he would take that clever-tongued, feisty little hobbit and...  
Well, he could decide later.  
For now, he watched, noticing Fíli was subtly sliding his hand into his collar. What he was hunting for, Glóin couldn't guess.  
Unless... Had the Goblins missed a weapon? Fíli did have a habit of hiding his knives in the most unexpected places.

"I should slice your head off where you stand! However, who said we had to play fair, hmm?"

Fíli extracted the knife from his fur, careful to avoid the blade reflecting light. He squinted at the Goblin King as he advanced towards Bilbo, looking for the best spot to aim for.  
Goblins were tough, though they, like all creatures, had a soft spot. The neck? It looked so disgustingly soft, the way it hung a load of fatty flesh over his chest. He decided the neck would be his best choice. Positioning the knife carefully in his hand, he lifted his throwing arm and hurled it.

Bilbo jumped away as the Goblin King gave a blood-freezing howl of pain. Large hands groped at the larger neck and he fell to his knees, pulling something long and shining with green, thick blood from his neck. Half his Goblins swiftly surrounded him, the others staring mutely at their captors.

"Run! RUN!" Thorin ordered, grabbing Orcrist back from the pile of weapons. "Now!"

Weapons were reclaimed and Glóin ran to grab Bilbo, before following the others.

"What were you thinking?!"

"They would've killed them!"

There wasn't really much opportunity to discuss the matter properly. The Goblins were gaining upon them, encircling them and Glóin didn't dare distract Bilbo from their very real, very worrying danger. The Company came to a sudden halt and Glóin stopped, tugging Bilbo close to his chest, holding his ax before them. There was no longer any point in running.

"Stay close together," Balin whispered.

There was a chilling silence as the Goblins came near. They all kept close, so close that there wasn't so much as a centimetre of personal space to be had.  
There was a sudden sound, like wood breaking. The Goblins froze, looking at each other.

"What is that?" One of them asked.

"I don't know, do I?"

There was a pulsing wave of pale light before the Company. The Goblins before them seemed aware of this and some turned to look.

"What's that?"

"Maybe it's a type of evil magic!"

Whatever those creatures thought was "evil", Glóin hoped he would never find out. The light grew stronger, brighter, the sound of wood breaking mingled with the familiar tones of splitting rock.  
Without warning, the light filled the cavern, temporarily blinding them all, not least the Goblins who all began howling, covering their eyes with their gnarled, moist hands.

"Gandalf." Dori murmured.

Glóin felt calmed by the Wizard's arrival, even if it was a bit late. The grey-haired male would surely be able to get them out of this mess and then he could attend to his hobbit, who seemed to think it was his life's mission to make all his guardian's hair silver by the time they reached Erebor.

They moved on, trying to get to the Wizard, before he attracted the attention of the Goblins.

"This way!" Gandalf called, running to a bridge. "Follow me, quickly!"

Glóin paused briefly to place Bilbo in front of him. It would be no good to lose him now.

Bilbo had never been overly fond of heights. He'd climbed a tree or two in his younger years, but they'd never been too high and his papa had always been there to keep an eye and he'd had his mother clambering up the branches with him.

This was wholly different.

For one thing, they never were chased by screeching mountain devils and the branches had been strong and sturdy. The bridge shook and groaned as they ran across. The Dwarves didn't seem to mind this, but it frightened Bilbo so he gripped tightly to the large Dwarven paw encasing his hand and hoped for the best.

Without warning, a hard force barreled into them, tearing the hobbit and his guardian apart. Bilbo heard the panicked cries of his Dwarven companions as he and his attacker tumbled off the bridge and into the depthless dark below.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets Gollum. Glóin doesn't give up his hope of finding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be non-graphic stitching in this chapter. As in when people get badly hurt and need to get stitched back up. If this will be a trigger for you, please avoid this chapter!

It was all Glóin could do to not jump after Bilbo. Óin apparently knew exactly what he was thinking (By Mahal, when did his brother not know?) and dragged him along, barking at him to pay attention to his surroundings.

He sounded hard to those who didn't know him, but Glóin knew Óin far too well. He stole a glance at his elder brother and his knowledge was confirmed when he saw the pinched, fearful expression that had not been shown to the Goblins.

Óin, he knew, was just as scared as he was.

* * *

Bilbo lashed out at the vile creature. Its sharp teeth were bared at him and it was strong, so strong... It was going to kill him before they even reached the bottom of their fall...

Goblin and Hobbit landed with a resounding thud. Bilbo fought hard to get back up, but even though hobbits are notoriously good at recovering from falls, this had been an exceptionally high one and he gasped, panting harshly as he lay on the ground.

The Goblin snickered. "No one around here. No one will hear your screams..."

It was prowling towards him now, pale eyes gleaming in the relative dark. Bilbo found some energy and used it to shuffle back, cringing as unprotected neck met the rubbery dampness of some unknown plant.

"D-don't."

Where was his sword? He'd had it somewhere. He glanced around, feeling both relieved and afraid when he saw it. It still glowed blue, but it was too far away. He would never reach it in time.

"It'd be a kindness really. You wouldn't live too long here, would you?"

Bilbo would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so frightening. A Goblin talking about kindness?

"What would you know about kindness, you demon spawn of the Mountains?"

Snarling, the Goblin lunged forward, grabbing Bilbo's shirt and lifting him from the ground as though he weighed less than a mere pebble. "What did you just say, you miserable, trespassing-"

"Isn't 'trespassing' a rather big word for you?"

The Goblin dropped him onto the sharp ground. For a moment, Bilbo thought he was going to be beheaded, but instead he felt a hard, leathery hand to the side of his head, throwing him several yards. He didn't feel anything until a wave of excruciating pain shot through his ear and warm liquid began flowing from his damaged ear.

The sword shone even brighter and Bilbo realised, without meaning to, the Goblin had done him a favour. Shaking, he grasped the hilt and tried to calm down, to ignore the pain.

The Goblin was coming over again.

He gathered all his strength, and though there was little of it, he managed to slice it at the Goblin's hand. There was a howl of pain and a clatter of metal and Bilbo came to the realisation that he'd somehow managed to disarm his opponent.

"You!"

Expecting a new attack, Bilbo tensed himself and sliced upwards. The Goblin yowled and staggered back, suddenly falling.

Bilbo ran.

* * *

Glóin had no idea where they were. Óin still hadn't let go of his sleeve, guiding him through the tunnels after their companions and Wizard.

He would have liked to have gone back and searched for Bilbo, but Óin would never have allowed that.

"Where are we going?"

"Just follow me." Gandalf said. "I know where the sunlight is."

"I'll go out of here if I must, but I'm not leaving 'til we've got Bilbo back." Glóin told Óin.

Óin nodded. "I'll stay with you. But, you know, he might not be.."

"I know! I know, brother."

Óin removed his grip and placed an arm 'round his brother's shoulders.  
The rest of the journey was spent in quietness.

* * *

The world was blurry around the edges and if it hadn't been for the endless stinging in his ear, Bilbo would have thought the creature in the tunnels had truly killed him.

He had been frightening. No Goblin was that and Bilbo didn't wish to go back and ask.

"He stole it!"

"It" was happily clinging to his index finger. The creature, Gollum, had passed him twice and not seen him even when the hobbit was directly before him.  
It was a magic ring, then. What Gollum used it for, Bilbo didn't like to think. He forced himself to think of the earth he could practically hear calling to him.

"Bilbo!"

Wait, the earth couldn't talk! Someone was calling for him! Bilbo hurried along, listening for that voice.

* * *

Glóin was refusing to leave that exit. Quarter of a mile from it anyway. Óin had insisted he leave the Mountain itself for fear a Goblin would come along and finish him off.

"Bilbo!"

"Glóin, enough! He's probably-"

"Don't you finish that sentence, Thorin!" Glóin warned. "He's too clever to die."

The thought alone of Bilbo lying, broken and dying at the bottom of a deep crevice filled Glóin with dread and he called again. "Bilbo!"

"Glóin, he's not as tough as we are. He's dead."

"Thorin." Óin snapped. "You aren't helping."

"Óin..."

"Now look," Óin gave Thorin the same look he used to give Glóin when his brother had attempted to lark about with his supplies. "Bilbo protected your nephews. Allow my brother and I this hope and we won't have problems. Do you understand what I'm saying here?"

Thorin nodded. "Aye. Take your time then."

Not so far away, Bilbo could hear the calls. His legs trembled and he recognised the voice, feeling a wave of new strength help him on his way.  
Glóin was there. Glóin was waiting. He saw the crack of light and paused, only to remove his ring before stepping out into the radiant warmth of the sun's light once more.

* * *

"Bilbo!"

Thorin glanced up. That was no heartbroken cry, that was a relieved call.

Glóin could see he was afraid, that he was tired. Not caring if thousands of Goblins decided to appear, he ran to meet him.

"Glóin.." Bilbo couldn't stand anymore. Sinking to his knees, he felt strong hands grip his shoulders.

"Bilbo? Óin!"

Óin inhaled sharply. "What the hell happened to his ear?"

Glóin swore violently. "That Goblin scum!"

Cautiously, Óin touched the wound. It was only the lightest of touches, but Bilbo yelled and turned away.

"Please, don't touch it."

"I'm sorry, laddie, but I will have to touch it."

"No!"

"Must you?" Glóin asked

"I can't examine or heal it without looking at it properly." Óin told him.

"Let's go elsewhere." Glóin suggested. "I don't want him looking at those mountains and being hurt at the same time."

Óin consented with a tilt of his head. "Best be quick then. Can he stand?"

* * *

"AAHH!"

"Bilbo, don't move your head." Óin requested, gently moving his patient's head back into the light.

"Please, don't touch it any- AHH!"

"Óin, wait. Let me have a look," Gandalf suggested. He knelt by them and quietly coaxed Bilbo into showing him his wounded ear. He was careful not to touch, but gave a soft sigh of dislike. "I see."

"What is it?"

"It's torn and won't heal naturally."

"So? We'll just stitch it back together."

"Oh, no. Glóin, don't let him!"

He sounded so terrified, Glóin frowned up at the Wizard. "Why is that such a bad thing?"

"Well." Gandalf thought for a moment. "Ahem. All creatures have particular 'pleasure' zones if you will and hobbit ears are..." Gandalf cleared his throat.

"Does that mean they can come by just touching their ears?"

"Nori!" Dori hissed.

"Well, I don't know, do I?"

"There is always one," Gandalf thought. "You will have to stitch it." he told Óin. Being an Istari certainly had its low points, he decided sorrowfully. Using his powers to hurry the healing process would be the more favourable option.

"No!" Bilbo growled, carefully covering his injury. "No stitches."

"Alright," Óin said, "No stitches."

The Dwarves watched their healer with confusion. No stitches? That didn't sound like Óin.

"Will you do a favour and let me put this balm on?" Óin asked, holding out the pot for Bilbo to see. "It'll help with the pain."

That it would, though Óin knew it wouldn't completely mask it. Bilbo finally allowed Óin's aid, though he borrowed Glóin's words from earlier to make his displeasure known.

"Fancy teaching," Óin muttered, "words like that. You ought to be ashamed, brother."

"You taught me 'em in the first place!"

The balm wouldn't take too long to work and Óin stood, fixing all of them with a steely gaze, as if to say, "bugger off, he doesn't need all you gawping!" They went reasonably quickly and Óin gave Glóin a particular look. Glóin held back a sigh and pulled Bilbo a tad closer.

Óin replaced the balm and looked at the row of sharp, pointed needles. There was a roll of string that he plucked out before finally choosing a needle.

Glóin almost had Bilbo in his lap. He looked at the sharp needle and then at Bilbo and in that moment, Óin could have sworn he saw a look of terrible heartache, not seen since Gimli had needed all ten of his fingers relocated after a nasty fall down the steps back in Ered Luin.

"Keep the uninjured ear to your shoulder." Óin instructed his brother.

"What's going on?"

"Shh, now," Óin soothed. "It'll be over and done with soon."

"What?"

He'd forgotten a wet cloth. Of all the foolishness! A shadow fell and he glanced up to see Bifur looking at him, holding a waterskin and a small, clean cloth in his hand. It was what he used to clean his spear, but he'd obviously found somewhere to give it a scrub and had returned with it.

"Thank you, Bifur."

This was met with a small smile. Bifur handed the item to Óin, brushing the healer's thumb with his as he did so.

Bifur didn't actually leave and Óin didn't actually mind. Bifur was a silent, calming presence.

He wetted the cloth and carefully, slowly cleared away the blood surrounding the wound, tightening his mouth when he saw its severity.  
The balm was a decent one, lasting for a good hour, even with water washing over where it had been placed and Óin was grateful for it.

He wasn't grateful for what he knew he had to do, though.

Bilbo saw the spark of silver and gasped, struggling in Glóin's arms, trying to escape. "No! Please, Óin, no stitches!"

"Keep still," Óin crooned. "It'll take longer otherwise. Do keep still, lad."

Glóin covered Bilbo's scalp with his hand, though he ensured the lad's ear was presented to Óin. He held him tightly, preventing him from going anywhere, though Bilbo kept trying.

"Glóin, please, I'm sorry.. Don't let him put a needle through my ear."

"Oh, Lord Mahal," Glóin thought. "Bilbo doesn't think this a punishment, does he?"

"It needs to be stitched back up, otherwise..." Óin trailed off. Moving closer, he gently moved the parts in need of fixing together, hardening his heart against the pained cries that accompanied his actions.


	12. Fixing Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is annoyed with Glóin. Glóin confirms what Bilbo overheard.

Glóin gently smoothed down curls, trying his hardest to not order Óin to stop (not that he would have). Bilbo had long surpassed hissing at the pain, and had to have his hands held together after he tried to push Óin's hands away. The hobbit was in tears. Glóin didn't know what to do other than hold him tightly and hope the rest of the treatment didn't agonise him any further.

"There." Óin snipped the string. "All done."

Bilbo, who until that moment had been communicating with yelps and the occasional sob, pushed against Glóin's arms, demanding his freedom back.

"How could you let that happen?!" Bilbo asked, raising his voice.

"Well, we didn't have much choice," Glóin pointed out, trying to calm Bilbo down.

"You had plenty of choice! Tricking me into thinking that," he turned to give Óin and his needle a very nasty look, "wasn't going to happen and then.. then...!"

Glóin didn't know what else to do. "Well, it's done with now.."

Bilbo looked livid. Opening his mouth, he probably would have said a great deal of rather rude things had Óri and Kíli not decided to intervene.  
Bilbo settled for giving a last death glare as the two young dwarves led him away.

Glóin glanced over at Óin. "What's he so upset for?"

Bofur heard this and frowned, walking over with Nori following, a look of interest on the thief's features.

"Bless me, you're clueless!"

"What?"

"Wonderful start, Bofur." Nori praised, tugging affectionately on one of his friend's braids.

Bofur paused to trap Nori's hand. "Great pillock. Anyway, you are a fool, if you don't mind my saying!"

"Eh?!"

"By Mahal's great, hairy.." Nori was beginning to feel as annoyed as Bofur.

"Nori!"

"Toes, I was going to say, you filth! Glóin, I don't know who dropped you on your head when you were a beardling, though I strongly suspect it was Óin..."

Óin looked appalled. "I would never do that!"

"..But, really. You can't see how you've managed to betray his trust in you?"

"I did no such thing!" Glóin snapped.

Bofur began stuttering inelegantly before simply saying, "What? You did!"

"And how did I manage that?"

"You and him." Nori said, pointing at Óin.

"Aye, that's right. Your brother stated there would be no stitches and then went back on his word..."

"An' you made him go through with it. Poor bugger was terrified!"

"But he needed the stitches!" Óin defended.

"We know that! But, you got his defences down and-"

"Well, how could I do it when he was curled up, hands covering the injury? I'd like to see you stitch a wound up, Nori..."

"I'll have you know, I've stitched enough of my own up to know what frame of mind is needed for the operation!"

"Alright! I've made a mistake, I admit it." Glóin interrupted. "What do I do, then?"

"Just... be there, apologise, let him punch you if he wants." Bofur suggested.

"Do what you do when you make mistakes with your lad." Nori said, earning a nod of approval from Bofur.

* * *

"And then I had to have stitches too and they were the most horrible, agonising thing I ever had." Kíli finished, nodding his head as though in self-agreement.

"'Tis true, Bilbo." Fíli said. "I was there and Kíli was not happy. It took four of us - me, Mam, Uncle and Balin - to get him to keep his arm still."

"The underside of the forearm," Kíli told him, leaning forward and dropping his tone conspirationally, "is the most sensitive part a Dwarrow has because it's soft and unprotected by hair."

"And yours was stitched up?"

"It was," Kíli confirmed. "And it was the longest, most painful ten minutes of my life. Wanna see?"

Before Bilbo could refuse, the youngest heir of Durin had rolled up his deep blue sleeve, showing the Hobbit a faded, lightly-coloured scar that ran from the crook of his elbow to just above his wrist.

"And that is why you should never play with knives." Kíli said softly, recovering his arm. "I didn't want the stitches either."

"I bet your mother didn't trick you into it," Bilbo muttered.

Fíli chuckled. "It's a good thing you didn't bet money on that!"

Kíli was smiling, a corner of his mouth perked upwards. "She did, my friend. Only because I was heavily against it."

"It doesn't make it right!"

"Of course it doesn't!" Kíli agreed. "And, believe me, I was not happy at all with her for doing it."

"But neither was she." Fíli added. "She felt terrible about it."

"It wasn't because she didn't care, it was because she did care. Little did I know, the cut could have developed itself a nasty illness."

"Bilbo," said Fíli, looking directly at him, "I don't think I've ever seen Glóin look as afraid as when he thought he'd lost you."

* * *

Strange how he always managed to inflict fear into the hearts of those who cared for him. His father had often said his only son was the exact reason his hair had turned grey early.

Bilbo didn't mean to scare people.

He reached up to cover his throbbing ear, knowing that actually touching it would only worsen the pain.

Cursed Dwarves and their cursed needles. Though now he knew they'd only been helping him. Óri's description of how bad infections could easily get, had helped him appreciate that fact.

Didn't help the agony go, though.

"Akhûnith?"

He started at the familiar word, turning to look at his Dwarven guardian.

"How are you feeling?"

He was trying to be gentle, Bilbo realised. He wasn't angry, despite what had happened with the Goblin king, he wasn't cross even though Bilbo hadn't been particularly polite (though he'd had a good reason!). He really did care and Bilbo felt soothed if only by the Dwarf's presence.

He wasn't going to be dishonest about the pain, though.

"I think my ear's about to drop off."

If Glóin found it amusing, he didn't show it. "I'm sorry, lad. I should've been truthful with you about what was going to happen."

He should have and Bilbo was still stung, literally, about getting sewn up without consent, but the urge to shout at his guardian was draining out of him, leaving him to nod.

"It wasn't because of what happened in the Goblin town, was it?"

Glóin was horrified. "Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?"

"Just... Just a thought."

Glóin was shaking his head. "Aüle above. No, I was not happy about you getting lippy with the Goblin King, but the stitches wouldn't have happened if we didn't have to put them in." His voice softened. "So, they were nothing for you to be sorry for, my lad."

"You knew they would hurt."

"Yes. They're not the nicest of things to be had, but they heal injuries that won't seal up by themselves."

"I suppose.. I know they weren't just to hurt. But they did."

"If I could've spared you the pain, I would," Glóin promised.  
Bilbo glanced up at him with brimming eyes. "I know!"

He was angry and he didn't know whether it was at Glóin or the insistent, irritating pain pulsing through his injury.  
He was in tears again. He didn't want to, but he was and in a rare moment of childlike wishfulness, he wished that he had his papa there to soothe away all the hurt.

He didn't have Bungo. But he did have Glóin.

His first clue that the Dwarf was still there was a surprisingly light touch to his shoulders. His second was that there was a sudden tight warmth encasing his body and without meaning to, he buried his head in the secure softness of his guardian's shoulder.

Though it was a rather unbelievable fact, Nori sometimes gave the most excellent advice.

At least Bilbo had forgiven him the mistake. Glóin had genuinely been afraid his pundurith would never forgive him.

"How was it," he wondered, "that he suddenly became so important to me?"

He bet the Wizard knew this would happen.

He let himself ruffle the coppery-golden curls back as he felt Bilbo move. His eyes looked sore and Glóin placed a hand under his chin, initiating eye contact.

"Do you feel any better?"

Bilbo nodded, curling a hand around Glóin's wrist, managing a faint smile. "Thank you. You didn't leave me."

Glóin moved his hand to clasp Bilbo's shoulder. "What sort of guardian would abandon the person he cares for?"

Bilbo looked curious, opening his mouth as though he wished to ask a question before seemingly thinking better of it.

"Hey, what is it?"

"Nothing," Bilbo answered.

Glóin raised an eyebrow. "Have we only just met? Tell me, laddie."

To his credit, Bilbo did appear to want to tell. "Well, I may have overheard you and Thorin talking last night."

"Oh?"

What had he said last night? Curse his bad memory. Curse it straight into oblivion.

"Um, I heard.. You said you consider me to be like kin."

"Yes."

"Thorin said.. He did say.."

"I know what he said," Glóin told him gently, cutting him off before he "Ummed" his whole way through telling Glóin what the dwarf already knew. "And, for once, he was correct."

Bilbo looked like his eyes were about to fall from his head. "But... You love your son. I mean, he's yours, you... Ohh."

Glóin watched him try to get the words out before slowly counting to ten. "Do you honestly think," he said quietly, "that because we are not blood-related, I cannot love you?"


	13. Pundurith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo learns what his nickname means. Everyone else finds it hilarious.

It had been perhaps two years since anyone had told Bilbo they loved him.  
The last had been Belladonna who had looked at him with deadened, pale turquoise eyes and had murmured "love you" so quietly, Bilbo hadn't been entirely certain she'd said it at all.

She'd been heartbroken to lose his father.

The days following her death had been filled with pity, but love had been non-existent. Particularly where Lobelia had been involved.

To hear Glóin state it so bluntly, well!

It was a shock to say the least.

He couldn't think what to say. Nothing in his head sounded right and as he struggled to find the right words, he noticed Glóin was stepping away, the same expression Thorin had worn when Balin had told of Anazulbizar glimpsing through the thick facial hair.

"I.. I don't!" Bilbo blurted out, horrified that Glóin would think such a thing. "Of course not! There's plenty of families that have taken in and cared for fauntlings."

"But?"

Glóin had been a father for far too long, Bilbo decided. "Well, I.. I'm... I'm different to you. I can hardly fight, I'm not strong or tough.."

Glóin's expression had changed again. "By Mahal!" he growled. "D'you really think all of  _that_  is what  _matters_? It does matter that you can't fight, in these circumstances, but you can be taught to fight. All this talk of strength and endurance! You've managed well enough."

"Yes, but.."

"I'll give you that you haven't  _our_  strength, but you have your own!" Glóin paused. "And you survived that fall."

Bilbo nodded. "I know, just.. I barely belong in my own family."

Glóin was looking at him again, a slight glimmer in his eye. "You fit in with  _my_  family just fine."

Bilbo blinked. "I'd forgotten that you're all cousins and brothers and the odd nephew or two," he mused.

"And?"

"Perhaps you're right."

* * *

_'Perhaps'_. Glóin shook his head as he watched Bilbo talk to Óin. It made sense in a sad way that he didn't quite believe it. He'd not truly belonged with his own family and certain people hadn't given him cause to believe he belonged with Glóin's either.

He could fix that, however.

Not just him. The others seemed to appreciate the fact Bilbo was alive and reasonably healthy. Particularly Óri who seemed to think a Goblin might attack Bilbo at any given moment and was currently following him around wherever he went.

He stole a look at Thorin. His cousin was looking at Bilbo differently. Almost relieved, like he would look at his nephews, but not as warmly.

At least something had changed there.

* * *

"We should move on."

Looks were thrown the Wizard's way.

"Must we? The young ones are exhausted." Dori pointed out.

"Yes. It's best we go now to find somewhere to rest while we have the sun's light."

"He's right, I suppose." Bofur said, helping Nori to his feet. "Too much of a risk that the Goblins might come out again. And we're a bit close to the Mountains."

"Need you pull so hard?" Nori muttered.

"I'm sorry," Bofur said, smirking. "I forget, you like to _pull yourself_   _up_!"

"Oi! My younger brother's present, you disgusting sleazebag!"

"Like  _you_  haven't said worse!"

Bilbo struggled to hide a laugh as the two bantered on. He was, in truth, only too glad to leave the Mountains with their many Goblins and that fearsome creature far behind.

* * *

They found camp just as the sun was starting to disappear. Gandalf had deemed it far enough from the Mountains and Bilbo made to follow Glóin to help collect the firewood, only to be stopped.

"Stay here and rest. You're so tired, you'd likely collapse and then Óin'd be after us both."

"I can manage."

Glóin shook his head. "Do as I say."

Bilbo would have argued his case more had Óri not come along and dragged him away. Satisfied the hobbit was at least in safe hands, Glóin headed to Dwalin to ask for his aid before going into the woods with his companion.

* * *

When he returned, it was to find Bilbo giving the most  _distrustful_  look to Óin as the latter tried to get him to put more of the balm on his ear.

"Not after what happened last time." Bilbo was saying, edging further and further away.

"No stitches, really, I promise you." Óin said. "I haven't any needles, they're in my bag."

"Well, how do I know you haven't one hidden in your beard or your hair or your.. eyebrows?"

"How, in Mahal's blessed name, could I have one hidden in my  _eyebrows_?!"

"He's right, lad," Glóin told Bilbo. "Besides, he'd never hide a needle in his hair, he's too afraid of losing them."

"You're the reason I fear losing them," Óin muttered. "Larking about with them when you were a beardling..."

"Anyway," Glóin interrupted. "It's alright. You're safe from the stitches,  _pundurith_."

" _Pundurith_?" Bofur repeated, his trademark grin etching itself onto his features. "Aw, how sweet!"

Bilbo finally accepted the pot from Óin, tenderly dabbing a bit on his injury. "Bofur, what is a  _pundurith_?"

Bofur looked thrilled "You don't know?"

"Well, he has got pointy little ears." Nori said, ignoring what Bofur had said.

"But he has no whiskers!"

"Or a tail."

"Yes, but he has got furry little feet." Kíli declared.

"Which he's very quiet on..." Fíli said.

"It's an animal of some sort?" Bilbo guessed.

"And he's clever, despite how innocent and sweet he looks." Bofur pointed out.

Bilbo glanced over at Glóin. The redheaded Dwarrow was smiling to himself and Bilbo felt slightly nervous as to what pundurith truly meant.

"Very tiny." Dwalin said after a short silence.

"Terrifying if you piss him off enough," Bofur chuckled.

"What is a  _pundurith_?" Bilbo asked his giggling companions.

"T'is," said Nori, wiping a tear of laughter away, "it's a cat. In this case, it's a baby cat. A kitten."

"A bloody  _kitten_?!"

"There's nothing wrong with kittens." Nori said, barely holding coughs of laughter back.

"Why a  _kitten_  of all things?"

"Kittens are full of surprises. Not unlike you." Óin said simply. He eased the pot from Bilbo's limp hold.

"A  _kitten_."

"Well, they're small, they look deceptively innocent, they can be very clever-minded, they're quiet unless they want someone's attention.." Bofur listed.

"Well... I wouldn't say deceptive."

* * *

"Goodnight, Fluffy!"

Propping himself up on one elbow, Bilbo glared at Glóin as best he could. "See what you've started?"

Glóin grinned, though Bilbo couldn't see. "As I told you, you can't deny how alike you are to a kitten."

"You know, my cousin used to call his wife that."

"That's a strange thing to call a woman."

"I thought so, too."

"Mm. Sleep now." Glóin gave a loud yawn. "We've still a long journey ahead of us."


	14. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo can't sleep. Glóin doesn't like this at all.

He didn't dare sleep. The growling thing in the dark of the Goblin-infested Mountains still haunted him and he rested instead, his tired mind catching snippets of am early morning conversation as dawn rolled around in a rising glow of red, pink and gold.

"Look at that, he even curls up like a kitten."

"Hush, he's only having a catnap!"

Bilbo cracked open an eye, glaring blearily at his dwarves. "Shh! You're all far too easily amused."

"Are you getting up now, pundurith?" Glóin asked, bending to lightly shake Bilbo's shoulder. "'Tis early, but it's best you rise now."

He didn't need to say that Thorin would be displeased if their journey was delayed. Bilbo moved himself off the ground- how he missed the bedroll, lumpy as it had been! - and got to his feet wincing at the aching in his body. He stretched his arms and grimaced at the loud cracking sound that clicked from his joints.

He would be hurting today.

"You alright there?" Glóin asked, casting a scrutinising glance over Bilbo's rigid posture. "You look like you have a literal iron spine."

"Bit sore, but I'll be alright." Bilbo answered.

* * *

"Bit sore". What an understatement. As the day stretched on, Bilbo was certain he was going to find his spine had popped out.

"Can you dislocate your back?"

Óin thought about this for a short while. "No, laddie. You can dislocate a tiny bone in your spine, but you wouldn't be walking now if that'd happened." Óin lightly, for a dwarf, patted his shoulder. "I'll bet it's that fall catching up with you. You'll be alright."

By the end of the day, he was gladly using Glóin as a support. Óin seemed to find this development highly amusing.

"You must be the strongest person here." Bilbo murmured.

Glóin snorted. "Thank you, but that honour goes to Master Dori."

" _Really_?!"

Bilbo's tone and expression was so disbelieving that Nori choked on his pipe, prompting the aforementioned Dori to thump his brother's back in hopes of stopping the hacking coughs.

"Yes, believe it or not. Dori's the strongest dwarf in this company."

"Always the ones you least expect." Dori said, giving Nori a last thump to help his sibling regain his breath.

"How strong?" Bilbo asked.

Dori gave him an astonishingly mischievous smile before calling to Dwalin. "Fancy an arm wrestle tonight?"

Glóin chuckled. "You're in for a treat tonight. You won't be able to take your eyes off it."

"Is... Is he really going to arm wrestle with  _Dwalin_?"

"Aye. You just wait."

* * *

Camp was made with haste. Tonight, Glóin allowed Bilbo to help with the firewood and all but dragged him back to the group, sparking a fire and then joining the others as they watched Dori and Dwalin.

There was an air of a great battle about to commence. The two eyed each other before kneeling and grasping hands, still maintaining eye contact.

"Alright," said Balin. "We know the rules, but last time we went a little off-law, didn't we?"

Dwalin was smirking.

"There is to be no," Balin fixed both with a steely glare,"biting, scratching, spitting, insults, gouging, stabbing, poking, kicking, headbutting, or flirting. Particularly flirting. We don't need to see that, thank you both very much."

Dori was grinning now as if recalling a proud moment.

"If you must, you may now begin."

Dori struck first, pushing at Dwalin's arm as though it weighed barely anything. Dwalin's arm was popping a vein with effort and the warrior was roaring with desire to win. Dori was more quiet, but his strength, strength Bilbo had not thought possible, was rearing its head and soon the winner of the competition was revealed as a tattooed hand was nearly smashed into the ground to cheers.

Dori clasped Dwalin's shoulder. "Didn't hurt too bad, did it?"

Dwalin shook his head. "'Course not. One day, I'll beat you at this!"

Dori grinned. "I could beat you in my sleep!"

"Oh, really?"

Taking his eyes off the two warriors, Glóin chuckled softly at the look of awe in Bilbo's eyes. "I see you've had a big shock."

"He won! And it barely took him any time!"

"Dori has surprising strength," Glóin acknowledged. "A thing which can be said for a lot of us, I might add."

Bilbo nodded in agreement. "Where's Bifur taking Óin?"

"He's likely found a pretty flower or summat like that." Glóin's look suddenly turned sharp. "Did you sleep at all last night? You've got shadows under your eyes."

"I slept, yes." Bilbo said. "Not much, though."

"Hmm. Was a long day, yesterday."

"We should rest earlier tonight." Gandalf suggested, giving Bilbo a knowing look.

Thorin seemed to agree. "We can go earlier again tomorrow."

Bilbo rubbed his forehead. "Good. Sounds good."

Glóin eyed him suspiciously. Something was deeply bothering his pundurith. Something Bilbo clearly wanted to keep secret.

Well, he wasn't having  _that_.

* * *

He didn't go to sleep straight away. Instead he stayed awake, listening for the sound of Bilbo's breathing.

When he'd first learned of Neoma's pregnancy, Óin had taught his brother how to tell when a person was asleep or not just by hearing them breathe. As Gimli had gotten older, it had been a blessing, for he could step in and discover the reason for his son's insomnia and help him get his rest to boot.

So, it was a home to home for him. Soft breathing, but too fast, too deep for him to be sleeping.

Unless he was having a nightmare.

Glóin reached over to pat his shoulder. "Bilbo?"

"...Yes?"

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I can't."

"What's going on?" Glóin questioned.

"Nothing."

Clear as a bell, Óin stated, "Lad, if  _he's_  noticed, we've  _all_  noticed. You might as well tell him now and get it done with."

How long Óin had been eavesdropping, Glóin couldn't guess, but he certainly wasn't having this conversation where anyone could hear. Mahal only knew, it could be something of a rather...sensitive nature that Bilbo found so terrifying, it kept him awake.

"Come over here," he whispered. "That's it."

Hobbit safely nestled under his arm, he gently rubbed his back, soothing Bilbo the way he soothed Gimli.

"You're safe enough with us," he reminded. "No Goblins, no Orcs, no anything. Sleep now. We'll discuss it tomorrow."

Despite the close warmth and kindness of Glóin, Bilbo shivered.

Talking about Gollum was not something he particularly wanted to do. Especially with Glóin. What would his guardian think if he found out what Bilbo had taken?


	15. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo says something he doesn't mean. Then Glóin does.   
> Good thing they have Óin.

Again, he didn't sleep. He didn't know if Glóin knew, but nonetheless, kept his eyes open, darting glances everywhere, fearing Gollum would lunge from the shadows, screeching for his 'precious'.  
He shuffled closer to Glóin, seeking security that he knew would not come.

Gollum had  _destroyed_  that Goblin. He'd torn its skin and limbs off directly in front of where Bilbo had been lying in a growing pile of strange mushrooms and then had dragged the Goblin's corpse off.

Then Bilbo had found a golden ring. A ring he later discovered could turn him invisible when worn. He'd kept this ring and only found out it belonged to Gollum when the creature had found it lost, suspected him immediately and then started shrieking for it back.

In the distance, a bat yowled, its call unexpected to Bilbo. He jumped, inadvertently knocking Glóin awake and tensed, worrying about the animal and the fact that awakening a sleeping dwarf is as good as a death sentence at the best of times.

"You haven't slept, have you?"

He would have liked to have denied this, say he had indeed slept, but he had an inkling that Glóin would see straight through the lie and would be displeased at it.

"No." Bilbo admitted. "I haven't."

Glóin was silent. Bilbo could see him looking upwards and practically heard him thinking something through. Then he carefully moved his arms, gently depositing Bilbo on the ground before getting to his feet. "Up with you, lad."

"What?"

"Get to your feet. We have matters to discuss."

The sky was turning a light purple tinged with gold. Dawn was fast approaching and Glóin knew the others would soon be rising. This pack of sleep would not do at all.

He would unravel the mystery of Bilbo's insomnia now.

* * *

They weren't too far from camp. Glóin could easily see the remains of the fire from last night. But that was not what his focus was on.

Pointing at a nearby rock, he told Bilbo to sit which the hobbit did, watching him with wary eyes.

"What happened, lad?"

"Nothing."

"I've been a father for sixty years," Glóin reminded. "Don't think I can't tell when I'm being fibbed to. What happened?"

He was, of course, too aware that  _anything_  could have happened whilst Bilbo was gone. Even things he didn't like to think of. With this in mind, he kept his voice as soft as he could, though he was determined to know the reason Bilbo why couldn't sleep.

"Nothing happened." Bilbo repeated.

Glóin raised an eyebrow. "Bilbo, it's very obvious that something happened."

Bilbo looked down, shaking his head. "Leave it alone, will you?"

Glóin folded his arms. "Tell me what happened down in that crevice. I'm not going to be angry with you. Surely you can see that keeping it to yourself is only causing bad things?"

Bilbo shook his head and wrapped his arms 'round his shaking body. Seeming to calm, he risked another look at his guardian. "Leave me alone! Nothing happened."

"Bilbo," Glóin sharpened his tone. "What ha-"

_"Dare you tell him?"_  a strange voice whispered.  _"Do you truly believe his words are true?"_

Bilbo's hand inched to his pocket which held his stolen treasure. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he muttered again, "Nothing happened."

"Bilbo, please..."

"Back off!" Bilbo snarled. "Just leave it be." As a poisonous afterthought, he added. " _What do you even care, anyway?!_ "

Glóin exhaled sharply before taking several steps back and walking off. Anger left Bilbo, leaving him feeling cold and frightened as he watched his guardian walk away.

* * *

Of course Glóin kept an eye on Bilbo the rest of the day. He was still aware of his duties after all.  
He wasn't  _angry_ , strictly speaking, but Mahal above! What had gotten into his pundurith? He had no temper to speak of, from what Glóin had seen over the past few months.

It hadn't been Glóin who'd been lying, mind.

Perhaps he was a bit angry that morning. Not at Bilbo, of course, but surely Bilbo knew better than to lie.

But why had he lied? There was always a reason for these things and Glóin knew Bilbo and he knew it wouldn't be a stupid reason.  
Something bad had happened to Bilbo. He just knew it.

Why else would Bilbo think he didn't care?

* * *

He'd pushed Glóin away. The only one who'd shown him love in nearly three years and he'd behaved like he had.  
It was little wonder Glóin had left him.  
He wouldn't come back and Bilbo wished dearly that he would.

When Bungo had still been alive, if he had a disagreement with his son, he talked about it. He couldn't possibly leave it alone, because he didn't see the point in it.  
Never, not once, had Bungo turned his back.

Bilbo rubbed at the aching ball in his neck, trying to soothe the pain to avoid the threatening drops of liquid burning in his eyes from welling up.

He wanted to walk near Glóin, but was too... Too afraid to say anything, apologise, even just tell him what had happened, but just felt certain that he would be ignored. That Glóin would refuse to listen.

He looked over at his guardian and then back away.

He'd really landed himself in it this time.

* * *

The day's march ended with an hour to spare before sunset. The sun was turning a orange-yellow on the horizon, going on its way down, illuminating the emerald-green trees before them. It was oddly quiet, Bilbo noticed.  
Too quiet for where they were.

Taking his eyes off Bilbo, Óin nudged Glóin. "You two've kept a fair distance today."

His brother's eyes were sharp, yet Glóin could see underneath that focus, a soft gaze, one Óin rarely showed. "Aye," he eventually answered. "That we have."

"Share the tale,  _nadad_." Óin requested.

"Well, he's not been sleeping like he ought," Glóin sighed, "and when I asked why, he got defensive. Something scared him there, brother. Something terrified him."

"Something seems to have saddened him, too."

Glóin threw him an astounded look. Óin chuckled.

"I know younglings twice as well as you. Not all parents back off for an hour or two if things get on top of them."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Óin said as patiently as he was able, "now might be a good time to talk to your boy again." His own dark eyes narrowed. "What else is going on?"

"He seems to think I don't care for him."

Óin snorted and lightly shoved his shoulder. "Go and prove that wrong, then!"

Glóin supposed his elder brother had a point. He should really have thought of that idea himself, in truth. He walked over to Bilbo, who was watching Fíli and  
Kíli mock-spar. Lightly tapping his shoulder, he was startled to see the look of guilt in the Shireling's eyes when Bilbo turned and saw who was behind him.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo made haste to say. "I was wrong to say what I did."

There was such fear in the emerald-green eyes staring into his own onyx-black ones that instead of saying "Apology accepted", Glóin elected to instead say, "what's wrong with you?"

He only realised how absurd it had been to reply with that when Bilbo stepped away, looking pained, and Óin audibly sighed, the same way he had done when his younger brother had accidentally hurled his ax through a window.

Judging by his  _pundurith's_ expression, however, this time he'd harmed something a great deal more valuable than a window.


	16. Fire and Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glóin and Bilbo make up. Then the Orcs appear.

Of all the stupid things to say to someone, 'what's wrong with you?' has the be among the worst. Particularly if it meant a sorrowful expression radiating from such large, green eyes.

He'd thought he'd left puppy-eyes behind in the Blue Mountains. In no way was he prepared for this emotional onslaught.

"Burglar, Glóin! Find kindling." Thorin requested.

Oh, that was not helping. But already, Bilbo was shuffling off to scope out the trees surrounding, leaving Glóin with little other choice than to follow him.

* * *

"There was a creature down there in that crevice," Bilbo murmured after a short while. "He wasn't a Goblin or an Orc. I don't know what he was."

Glóin remained silent. He didn't quite trust himself to speak without somehow blowing the whole thing.

"He  _killed_  the Goblin, Glóin. It looked so simple for him to do, as though the Goblin had no strength at all, and then the creature, he...he..."

Bilbo was shivering. Glóin allowed himself to take a closer step, though he was careful to keep some distance. He still hadn't a clue what this creature may or may not have done. Not giving Bilbo enough space could prove to be highly dangerous if nothing else.

"I wasn't harmed by either Goblin or...  _him._ He frightened me, the creature. He seemed to be talking to himself and another person and-" Bilbo paused and, unknown to Glóin, touched the smooth surface of the golden ring in his pocket. "He got angry suddenly. I don't know how I got away from him."

"This creature haunts you, doesn't he?"

Bilbo didn't answer, his gaze distant. He was no longer shivering and his revelation that the creature hadn't hurt him gave Glóin the incentive to close the gap between them so that he could touch his shoulder. "Bilbo, you are safe with us. Nothing has accompanied us on our way from those Mountains, we would have noticed by now,  _pundurith."_ _  
_

Bilbo's gaze turned more conscious. " _Pundurith_." he whispered.

Glóin eyed the ground. "Forgive me for what I said. It wasn't meant."

"I didn't mean what I said either"

Glóin lightly tipped Bilbo's chin up. "I never did tell you I forgave you, did I?"

Almost cautiously, Bilbo softly stated, "I thought you might have hated me. We were apart most of the day."

Curse it all. Óin had been right. Jammy sod.

"No, no," Glóin assured. "Hate is a strong word, you know."

"You were angry."

"I wasn't  _angry_ , I was worried because something was scaring you and frustrated, because something terrible  _had_  happened and you wouldn't say what it was."

Bilbo was starting to look guilty again. With good reason, Glóin thought. Lying was unacceptable, but he knew why Bilbo had done so, and he sympathized with him, for the creature had caused a great deal of fear and had robbed him of valuable resting time.

"Why was it that you couldn't tell what was wrong?" Glóin asked.

"I didn't want to talk about him. It was like if I mentioned him, he would appear.."

Ah. This was something Glóin easily understood. It was a common enough fear and he nodded his understanding. "I see. You know you're safe. It's just us, no strange creatures." He paused. "Though you'd be forgiven for calling that Wizard of ours 'strange'..."

Bilbo's tense features softened into his first smile-like expression of the day.

Glóin patted his shoulder. "Next time something frightens or worries you, be sure to come to me or Óin. I don't want you keeping secrets."

"I will," Bilbo promised.

Glóin smiled and stepped back. Turning, he near jumped out of his skin as Nori came charging into the area.

"Have you got your lad?" Nori asked breathlessly.

"Aye. What is it?"

"Forget the wood," Nori warned. "Get your weapon out. Wargs have been heard."

As if on cue, the other eleven Dwarves and their Wizard came pouring through the trees. Amidst the calls at them to run,  _but stay with the group_ , Bilbo could hear the loud wailing howls of the fearsome beasts behind them.

* * *

 

"Trees! Up into the trees!"

There was nowhere else to run. There was a cliff directly before them and to try and climb down it in in the darkening light would have been suicide. Bilbo grasped tightly onto the hilt of his dagger, but it fell through his shaking fingers. Cursing, he swooped to pick it back up, tensing as he heard an animalistic snarl from behind.

It was like a demon wolf. The teeth were sharper and longer, the fur thicker, the body stronger, thick with muscle, but it had dog-like paws and the glowing, amber eyes were very much reminiscent of the animals that had clawed their way through the Shire. It saw him, pupils becoming smaller and it growled before running at him.

He knew he could hardly push it away and did the only thing he could think of that would save him. Holding the sword in front of his body and praying that he wouldn't get impaled from the force of the beast charging towards him. There was a sickening crunch and the best fell to one side, the dagger buried up to the hilt in its skull.

More were coming. Bilbo tugged and pulled at his weapon, trying in earnest to remove it from the Warg, but it was stuck fast. He was just losing hope of getting away from the animals when a large hand closed over his, aiding him in his attempts.

"Come, quickly now!"

He let his savior guide him towards a tree, accepting his help and noticed it was Glóin who had given his strength. He blinked. "Where is Óin?"

"He's in a tree somewhere. Told him to get safe and I'd find you."

Relieved at the safety of his guardian and said guardian's brother, Bilbo looked downwards. "Who first saw them?"

"That would be young Fíli, I heard. He and Kíli were scouting and they came back fairly soon, saying about the Wargs."

They were circling the trees now. However, they weren't attacking, simply looking around as though waiting for something.

"What are they doing?" Bilbo asked.

Glóin frowned. "I don't know, but it doesn't look too good." he carefully gripped Bilbo's shoulder. "Don't fall, now."

There was a soft gasp and Bilbo glanced to his left, noticing Balin. "By the Maker." the white-haired Dwarrow murmured.

The tree next to them betrayed a movement of deep blue and grey furs. "Azog." There was a pause and all heard Thorin whisper, "it cannot be."

The Pale Orc growled something in the vile sound of his own language. " _Thorin un dahg Thráin."_ he hissed slowly, a crooked smile taking over his thin lips. He roared other words and suddenly his Wargs attacked the trees, causing them to shake and groan in disapproval of the abuse they were now suffering.

Glóin grasped Bilbo tightly as their tree swung. Without warning, it toppled back, hitting the two trees closely behind it. Quickly, they grabbed onto branches, clambering awkwardly over the trees, trying desperately to escape the Wargs. Now, around half of them were squashed together, watching with horror as the biting, snarling creatures below roared and jumped at them.

A streak of fire flew towards them, along with Gandalf's shouted instruction of, "Catch!"

Bifur plucked it out of the air, gazing with curiosity at it. It seemed to be a pine-cone, yet it was burning fiercely.

"Rub it against another pine-cone and aim it at them!" Gandalf bellowed, throwing his own ammunition.

Mission understood, they grabbed for their own, sharing the fire and swinging them at the Wargs and Orcs surrounding. It was going well, until all the trees seemed to give out and began collapsing, forcing the thirteen Dwarves, Hobbit and Wizard to jump from branch to branch again.

All too soon, there was nowhere else to go, but down. The tree Gandalf shared with Dori, Óri and Dwalin creaked, falling and landing with its topmost part hanging over the cliff. There was a shriek and a terrified, panicked call of, "Dori!" and somewhere, Bilbo heard Nori give a strangled gasp before their own trees collapsed.

It wasn't the most enjoyable thing, being a passenger of a falling tree. Bilbo slowly opened his eyes, looking around. Glóin was lying on his side, a tree branch trapping his legs, forcing himself to breathe normally, but he looked pale and wounded. Bilbo crouched by him.

"How badly does it hurt?"

"I'm fine," Glóin told him. "What about you?"

"I'm not hurt."

Glóin nodded, patting his elbow. "Good."

"Brother!" Óin called. "How are you?"

"Over here!" Glóin bellowed back.

"How is everyone?" Balin asked.

Bilbo turned his head, his hearing picking up the thudding sound of boots. He made out a mane of dark hair, threads of silver running through the black locks and the familiar sheen of a long coat trimmed with fur. "Where's Thorin going?"

" _Thorin_!" Dwalin roared. There was a crack of wood and Balin glanced over, startled, his expression turning to one of great fear at something Bilbo couldn't see.

Bilbo could see, through the smoke and red flickering of the fire surrounding, Thorin running, his sword held high and his oaken shield held higher.

He was headed toward Azog.

Time stood still. Then it exploded. Bilbo could see Azog's large, spike encrusted mace swinging at Thorin, causing him to be thrown from his feet. Thorin was so tall, so  _strong_ that the strength Azog seemed to have frightened Bilbo greatly. How strong was Azog if he could even send  _Thorin_  to the ground?  
Not to be deterred, Thorin struggled back to his feet, flinging his hair out of his eyes only to be struck to the chest and sent literally flying to a rock several feet away.

There was silence, save for Fíli and Kíli desperately calling for Thorin.

Then Azog spoke.

An Orc made his way over to Thorin, deliberately slow.

Bilbo stood, sliding his sword out of its sheath, the blade glowing as bright a blue as it ever had.

"Bilbo? Lad, what are you doing?" Glóin asked.

"Thorin," Bilbo murmured.

"Bilbo,  _don't_. It's far too dangerous for you." Glóin ordered.

There was no one else. Everyone was either wounded or struggling to save themselves from death. It had to be him. Ignoring his guardian's words, Bilbo ran on, panic rising as he saw the Orc raise a sharp, dully glinting blade above Thorin's unprotected throat.

* * *

Glóin pushed and struggled at the stubbornly heavy branch, watching Bilbo's shrinking figure as it ran towards Thorin.  _Mahal, Mahal, if Bilbo got hurt, if he got killed..._  The branch moved a tad and he continued shoving at it, finally freeing himself just as Bilbo hurled himself at the Orc, knocking it and himself to the ground.  
Running his fingers along the charred earth, he found his ax and pulled it up. Stopping only to give Fíli and Kíli a hand over the expanse of fallen tree, he ran towards their companions, the two young princes and, by the sound of it, most of the Company following him.

* * *

The Orc was either dead or dying, a mess of small lines oozing black, shining blood from his wounds. Bilbo stepped back, staring into the intense eyes of Azog. The Pale Orc was snarling at him, sounding like one of his Wargs and Bilbo waved his sword at him in hopes of warning him off.

It didn't work.

However, aid had arrived in the form of at least eight angry Dwarves, all fighting for their fallen king, slicing down Orcs as though they'd never get another chance to.

"What in Mahal's glorious name were you thinking?" Glóin snapped, making his way over, pausing only to swing his ax at Orcs who came too close. "You could have been killed!"

Bilbo didn't hear. All he saw was a blur of white and he rushed past Glóin and slashed at the snout of the beast, causing it to release a blood-freezing yelp of pain. Azog  _roared_. Dismounting his beast, he stormed over to Bilbo, mace held high...

The world suddenly turned black.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes up. Glóin recalls his fear and Óin works his magic.

Bilbo drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few days. When he awoke, it was like being in a hazy dream which lasted barely a minute, full of echoing voices, panicked eyes and gentle touches.  
Usually, he stayed asleep.

* * *

When Thorin thought no one was looking, he glanced hopefully at Bilbo, only to look back away, disappointed. Glóin knew what Thorin was doing, of course, and though every instinct he had told him to bellow at Thorin, cause him any sort of pain for what his actions had allowed, he couldn't bring himself to do it, though he glared fiercely at him.

Thorin looked wretched. The way he looked at Bilbo, his sapphire-bright eyes pleading with the hidden emerald-green ones, pleading for Bilbo to just awaken and be safe... Glóin couldn't bring himself to do that to his cousin.

He was angry with Thorin, but he wasn't so cruel.

At least he tried not to be.

He tried his hardest to stay patient, tried to think of the person Gandalf was leading them to who would be able to help, but then he'd look at Bilbo, bruised, cut up and unconscious and something sharp jabbed inside his chest and all the bitter hurt and anger welled up until he ended up snapping at someone.

Usually it was Óin who bore the brunt of his brother's furious ranting. He took it all in stride, always knowing that Glóin never meant his angry words, that he was frightened.

"And you're overtired," he said on more than one occasion. "You'll do yourself in if you don't sleep properly."

The conversation was so reminiscent of the one he'd had with Bilbo that Glóin had closed his eyes, unable to stare into the calm depths of the dark ones belonging to his elder brother.

* * *

Now they were safe from the roaring, fearsome bear outside, Glóin made haste to find somewhere to place Bilbo.

"Mahal above, is there only straw here to rest upon?" Óin wondered aloud.

"You stay here, Nori and I'll look for someplace better." Bofur offered, lightly dragging Nori by his sleeve.

Nori looked torn. Dori squeezed his shoulder. "Go on,  _nadadel_. Óri and I will be here when you come back."

After Nori consented and left with Bofur, Óin absent-mindedly commented,"Don't think I've ever seen him so scared for you."

Dori shook his head. "My goodness. He's barely left our sides. When you think how he hates being crowded in his sleep, you'd never know it from this past week. It frightened him for certain."

"Frightened a lot of us." Glóin murmured, looking down at Bilbo.

"He'll wake soon enough," Gandalf rumbled. "I don't know when, but he will."

"Hmm."

Óin looked at his brother, furrowing his eyebrows. "You look exhausted." Before his sibling could interrupt, be added, "No, you  _are_  exhausted. Place Bilbo and yourself on the straw and sleep."

"What?"

"Do I need to repeat myself? Rest, now!"

Giving Óin the most baleful look he could muster, Glóin did as he was asked, carefully placing himself away from Bilbo, though it pained him to do so. He would have liked to hold him in his arms during sleep, but was too afraid, fearing that he might cause further damage to him.

"You're a right bossy git when you put your mind to it." he grumbled.

"Well, being subtle never worked with you, you great fool."

Glóin simply snorted in response. His eyelids grew heavier and his body relaxed and soon he was sleeping as deeply as Bilbo did.

* * *

"Glóin!" Bofur called loudly.

"For feck's sake!" Óin hissed. "Shut up, you overloud dolt! What is it?"

Bofur looked gleeful. "Aw, look, he's having a..."

Óin glared him into silence.

"We only found one bed, but out looked slept-in. Straw isn't too bad, Óin." Nori said. He looked as tired as Glóin had.

Óin pointed him towards a clump of straw. "Rest. You too, Bofur."

"Sending us to bed like a couple of beardlings." Bofur muttered cheerfully.

"Bit of sleep wouldn't go amiss." Nori yawned. "Where's Óri?"

"He's with Balin." Dori answered.

"Mm. You should look for him." Nori stated, flopping next to Bofur. "Stay away from heights..." With this advice, he closed his eyes and curled next to Bofur's slumbering form.

* * *

Bilbo still didn't wake up the next day. His breathing seemed stronger, which pleased Óin and some of the marks on his chest were starting to fade.

Their host, Beorn the Skinchanger, seemed as worried as Glóin over Bilbo. Glóin even trusted the taller being to watch over Bilbo when he couldn't. He could see the look of concern in brown, solemn eyes and understood that Beorn meant to harm to his pundurith.

"He is not your child, and yet you love him as though he was." Beorn mused one afternoon.

Glóin eyed him. "Aye. What of it?"

"Perhaps Dwarves are not so cold and heartless after all."

Glóin simply raised an eyebrow and patted Bilbo's curls.

* * *

It was not Glóin who witnessed Bilbo first waking up properly.

In fact it was Fíli, who heard a murmur and had given such a shout it attracted the entire Company, Gandalf and Beorn to the room to see what the matter was.

Bilbo was terribly confused when he awoke. There was loud talking and Fíli was crying and gently hugging him, while Kíli clung to his hand and all the while Bilbo wondered where he was and how he'd gotten there and was everyone alright?

Eventually Fíli prised himself off their burglar and Kíli decided to let go of his hand. Óin lightly shoved them out of the way and looked at Bilbo's eyes, asking him simple questions, looking satisfied with the answers.

"Right," Óin said, using his sternest voice. "Clear off, the lot of you, I don't think he'd like you gawking any longer."

He wanted to check the markings again. When the last person had trailed out, he gently requested Bilbo to take off his shirt and then cast a scrutinising gaze over them.

Weren't too bad. Ribs had been broken on impact, but Bilbo had been lucky, ridiculously lucky.

He should have died from the blow.

"What in Mahal's name are we to do with you?" Óin wondered aloud.

"Nothing too bad, I hope." Bilbo tried to joke.

Óin scowled. "This is no laughing matter. You're lucky not to be dead!"

"But, he would have died!"

"He's a great idiot." Óin stated firmly. "He's also got a hide as thick as his head and he got hurt. Had the Eagles not arrived, you could've been killed. Glóin was all for killing Azog, I vow he would've attempted to kill him if they'd not-"

"Eagles?"

Óin looked at him severely. "I'll thank you not to interrupt. You absolute idiot, going after the Defiler! He's not got a name like that from being nice, my lad!"

Óin carefully lifted Bilbo's arm, assessing the deep scratches and bruising splashed across the creamy skin. He noticed the downcast expression and softened.

"Come now," he said, patting his knee. "I'm not angry with you. Can you move your legs?"

* * *

He was still tired and dozed off mid-examination. Óin decided against awakening him again and made certain nothing could hinder his breathing before rejoining his kin.

"He's sleeping again," Óin warned. "So, if you really must go in there, be quiet."

* * *

Sitting by his  _pundurith's_  side, Glóin breathed a sigh of relief. Bilbo was no longer in the deep hold of unconsciousness, simply resting for now.

He brushed a hand over soft, light tresses, watching as Bilbo murmured at the touch.

His heart had just about stopped when the Orc-scum had slammed his mace Bilbo's way. Fortunately, he'd been quick to jump away, but the weapon hit its aim and had sent him spiralling across the ground.

Glóin had thought Bilbo dead.

He'd been positively enraged at the Orc's murder and had swung his ax threateningly at him when suddenly the Eagles decided to arrive and had flown them off to the isolated Carrock, where Thorin had awoken and Bilbo had not, though Gandalf had done all he could.

Now, he finally had! Glóin reached for one of his small hands, holding it between his own. His tiny fingers clasped around his guardian's and slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

"You're alright." Bilbo whispered.

"Can you move?" Glóin asked. "You did some damage to your ribs."

Bilbo carefully pulled himself up, accepting Glóin's arm to lean on. Glóin waited 'til he was sitting more or less upright before gently taking hold of him and lifting him onto his knees, carefully enveloping him.

'He is very much alive,' Glóin told himself. 'Stop your worrying!'

"What possessed you to take him on?" he asked.

"He would've killed Thorin."

"And he would've killed you too. By Mahal, we thought you were dead at one point! You went for him twice. What happened the second time?"

"He was coming for you," Bilbo quietly explained.

Glóin grew cold. For him? Bilbo had... Of all the foolishness!

"Bilbo, it is my job to protect you. You should've told me he was there."

"But, when Thorin went against him... It didn't end well."

"Nonetheless, you are small, you aren't as tough as we are and, forgive me, you aren't exactly skilled with your sword."

"I could hardly let Thorin get beheaded and I wasn't going to lose another person just so they could save me." Bilbo stated.

Glóin gently rubbed his back. "Someone else?" he enquired.

Bilbo leaned against Glóin's chest, sighing softly. "I never did tell you how my father died, did I?"

"No, but you don't have to, if you don't want to.."

"He died, saving me from wolves. They attacked the Shire three years ago. That was when I saw Orcs for the first time." Bilbo cleared his throat. "I'm not entirely convinced it was just the wolves who killed him."

Glóin stopped his actions and drew Bilbo back into his arms.

"I'm sorry, laddie."

Bilbo buried his head in Glóin's shoulder and let out a shuddering breath. Glóin allowed him his solitude, waiting 'til Bilbo felt safe enough to move his head before speaking.

"You have great courage,  _pundurith._ " he murmured. "We are proud." Bilbo's large eyes were wide and almost disbelieving. "We are," Glóin confirmed, "but never ever put yourself in trouble like that again, do you understand me?"

Bilbo nodded and relaxed into his guardian's arms.

* * *

He got better surprisingly quickly. Glóin barely left his side, except when requested, or as he called it, 'nagged', to by Óin.

Bilbo felt perfectly alright after several days.

Unfortunately Óin didn't agree.

"But I'm fine!"

Óin fixed a pair of onyx-black eyes on Bilbo. "You are healing, my lad. Stay where you are."

Letting out a sigh, Bilbo looked up at the healer who was turning out to be much more of a mother hen than his brother, a thing Bilbo had not thought possible. "Óin, I feel just fine!"

Óin rolled his eyes.

"You haven't gone deaf in the other ear have you?"

Óin gave him a steely look. "You wouldn't mock," he said, "a blind man on his lack of seeing."

He'd already felt guilty, but Óin's well-hidden, but visible hurt horrified Bilbo. "Óin, I'm sorry, I didn't.."

Knowing his chastising words had worked, Óin moved to place a hand on the hobbit's curls. "I know that. Mind what you say in future."  
He didn't believe in the whole formal "I forgive you" thing Glóin and Gróin loved using so much. If he was still annoyed with someone, he just didn't talk to them.  
Which made his lack of hearing useful indeed.

Nobody ever said  _he_  had to take his own advice.

Of course no one had thought to tell the halfling that, leaving Óin to bat away eight apologies before figuring out Bilbo was under the impression he'd not been forgiven his quip.  
Óin was really going to have to kill Glóin for forgetting to tell Bilbo. It took a good half hour to reassure him everything was fine and another half hour to explain it all.

"Little brothers a blessing!" Óin thought, gently pressing his forehead to Bilbo's. "They're no-good buggers and that's their extent!"


	18. Growing Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin visits Bilbo. Fíli and Kíli bring their burglar a gift and Glóin gets a new accessory.

Holding the thin, wooden stem of his pipe between his lips, Bilbo leaned on one elbow as he lay in his makeshift bed of golden straw.  
Óin would kill him if he saw the way he held himself, but at the moment, Bilbo couldn't get comfortable any other way, so risked it for the time being.

"You're not thinking of lighting a match where  _straw_  is, are you?" Glóin's voice travelled.

Bilbo shook his head. "No. Just miss smoking."

Glóin made his way to Bilbo, sitting beside him. "Tell you what,  _if_  he consents, I'll try and get you outside today."

Bilbo looked hopeful. Glóin carefully turned him onto his back, murmuring, "He'd have your hide if he saw you lying like that, my lad."

"I know," Bilbo sighed. "But it gets uncomfortable after a while, you see."

"Aye. He did say you were getting bored with it."

Bilbo flickered a startled glance toward his guardian. "I.. I wasn't very polite to him earlier..."

Lying a hand on Bilbo's forearm, Glóin nodded. "No, you were not." he paused. Truthfully, he'd said similar things to his brother when kept figuratively chained to his bed during illness and hurt, so he didn't wish to tell Bilbo he'd never said anything like that to Óin. "He knows best about injuries and the like," Glóin stated, echoing words that Gróin had once said, long ago. "And, though he never says it, he misses being able to hear. Never say anything like that to him again."

"I won't." Bilbo quietly vowed. "I am sorry I said it."

"I know. He's forgiven you. So he made clear not so long ago."

"Are  _you_  angry?" The question made Bilbo wish to roll his eyes at himself. It was the sort of question that twelve-year-old Fauntlings asked!

"No. I was never angry. I just needed you to understand." Glóin answered.

* * *

"Have you gone to see Bilbo yet?" Fíli questioned his limping uncle.

"Not yet."

"I begin to doubt you ever will," Fíli said, crossing his arms and narrowing his own blue eyes at Thorin.

"I will!" Thorin replied, giving Fíli an equally unimpressed look.

"What's been stopping you all this time? Six hours, he's been awake!"

"Remember that story I told you about first day I watched over your mother? She ended up falling over her own feet and split her lip open.."

"Yes, I do."

"Remember I told you I couldn't face her because I'd allowed her to get hurt?"

"I also remember she whacked you over the head for being an idiot." Fíli said. "You didn't intend for either to get hurt!"

"How can I face the person who protected me and saved my life after all that's happened?" Thorin softly asked.

"Just apologise to him." Fíli suggested. "He cares for you, I'm sure he'll forgive."

At Fíli's insistent stare, Thorin nodded and headed towards where his burglar lay

* * *

Bilbo was sleeping again by the time Thorin made his way over to see him. Curled up by Glóin's side, he looked as though he was completely at peace, Thorin paused, considering turning back 'til Glóin spoke.

"Speak to him when he awakens."

"Glóin, I..."

"Wait with him."

Glóin sounded cold. Little wonder. Frankly, Thorin was astonished his head was still attached to his shoulders.

"I'm sorry."

Glóin raised an eyebrow, but didn't take his eyes off Bilbo's slumbering form. "He's asleep. Wait 'til he wakes."

"It's my fault that he got hurt and I regret it."

For the first time since he'd acknowledged his cousin's presence, Glóin met his black eyes with Thorin's blue.

"Do you trust him now?"

"I do, yes."

"Good."

"Do you not forgive me?"

"What have  _I_  to forgive  _you_  for?" Glóin asked, though he knew very well what Thorin meant.

"Not remembering that it's not blood that makes a family. That my fury got the better of me and that he got  _hurt_  trying to protect someone who'd mistreated him through the journey thus far." Thorin answered.

"He didn't fall because he tried to save just  _one_ ," Glóin murmured.

"Who else?"

Glóin grimaced and returned his attention to Bilbo.

* * *

When Bilbo first awoke, it was to the knowledge that a pair of eyes, black as night, were gazing down at him.

"Sorry," he yawned. "I meant to stay awake."

"No matter," Glóin said. "D'you want to see Thorin,  _pundurith_?"

"He's alright?"

"He's fine, just like we told you." Glóin reassured him.

"I.. Yes, I suppose I wouldn't mind."

Stepping back from Bilbo, Glóin moved to allow Thorin to see him, though he kept a sharp eye on the back of his cousin's head.

"You could have been killed!"

At that moment, Bilbo had to fight to avoid rolling his eyes. If he was told that one more time, he didn't know what he'd do. He doubted Glóin would be pleased if he kicked Thorin in the shin.

"By Mahal! I believed bringing you along would be pointless, leading to nothing but wasted time and little progress," Thorin muttered.

Bilbo folded his arms and gave Thorin what he hoped was an intimidating look.

"I was wrong to believe this. I was wrong to doubt you," Thorin said, kneeling beside him and placing a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. "I have never been so wrong. I'm sorry, my burglar."

"It's alright," Bilbo assured him. "Little wonder there was doubt!"

There was relief in Thorin's crystal-blue eyes and a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "I'm glad you're well."

"How far are we from the Mountain?" Bilbo asked, suddenly recalling their time limit.

"We're closer than we were." Thorin told him. "Now is the time for resting and recovering. We make plans in several days." he stood, looking at Bilbo in a softer way than he had before. "I'd best go to meet Dwalin. I'll see you later."

"Are you alright?" Glóin asked, noticing Bilbo's frown as Thorin left.

"Yes, just... Did you all see the Lonely Mountain?"

Glóin nodded ." We caught a glimpse of it, yes."

"What's the Mountain like inside?"

Glóin heaved a small sigh. "I wouldn't know personally. I was born thirteen years after Erebor fell."

"Oh."

"Our da used to tell us, though. I can retell his tales, though it likely won't be as good as his."

"Are you sure?"

Glóin moved to sit by Bilbo again. "Mm. Well, it's bigger on the inside. The rock is carved out to make room for people to live in. It's not a dark, damp mountain, though some believe it is. No, the Lonely Mountain is bright and warm with fire and reflected light of jewels and metals.  
It's huge, as can be imagined. So large, and there's so many places to go in it that few have ever seen every inch of it. Every place you visit has a chance of making a new discovery.  
High up, there's a place for ravens and other messaging birds to live. You go up there and their sweet song greets you the moment you feel the air on your skin. You can see for miles so high up. You can see forestland, the great Lake, shining like a flat carpet of blue and silver." Glóin stopped, remembering the wistful gleam that had been in his father's eyes as he'd recanted this tale. "He always used to say," he said, "that the Mountain truly wasn't lonely at all because so many loved it and lived in it."

"People will live in it again, someday."

Glóin smiled, carefully tucking a curl behind Bilbo's ear. "Mmm. Are your stitches hurting you still?"

"No, they're fine."

"Good."

Glóin patted his shoulder and stood again. "I'll see where Óin's to, then. See you in a little while, my  _pundurith_."

* * *

It took a while, but Óin eventually grumbled his consent and warned his younger brother to watch Bilbo like a hawk if he really  _had_  to take him outside.  
When Glóin returned, it was to bump into Fíli and Kíli, both of whom were wearing suspiciously cheery grins on their youthful faces.

"What are you smiling about?" Glóin asked wearily.

He didn't mean to doubt, but really, after all the trouble they'd managed to drag Gimli into, he felt perfectly justified.

"No harm in a smile every now and then." Kíli said, his dimpled grin still fixed on his face.

"Wouldn't kill you to smile every now and then either." Fíli teased, grinning wider as Glóin glared at him.

"We just brought him some flowers to look at, that's all." Kíli explained.

"Thought he'd like them, because he's been indoors for so long-"

"And they really are beautiful."

"We know he likes flowers. And he was happy when he got them."

"Even told us what they meant."

They left, murmuring something about Bofur and "going to be hilarious", which Glóin swiftly decided he didn't need to know the full details of.

Walking in, he was both pleased and astounded. Pleased because Bilbo didn't look any worse for having the two excitable heirs of Durin accompanying him and astounded, because  _Aüle_ , how many flowers were there?!

An unbidden image of Fíli and Kíli running about with armfuls of flowers came into his head and he snorted at the thought.

Little made sense anymore.

"What are you up to?"

"Fíli and Kíli hurled these at me. I suppose they found it most amusing when I woke myself up with a sneeze."

Glóin chuckled. "I don't think they meant harm."

They never did, in truth. They just had the best talent for finding trouble to get in.

"Sit with me?" Bilbo requested.

Glóin did, tucking an arm 'round his tense shoulders. "Are you making something, laddie?"

"I'm trying to make a chain. There's a way you can do it that it sits like a bouquet, but stays linked together through its stems. My mother knew how to do it better than anyone."

"Even you?"

Bilbo laughed. "Payback for what I said about your tinderboxes?"

"Perhaps."

Bilbo snickered and then sighed at his attempts. "Oh,  _curse_  this! I'll make a normal chain instead."

"You give up too easily."

" _You'd_  tear it to bits!"

"I would  _not_  and I resent the implication!"

Bilbo smiled softly. "I meant no offence."

"I know, my lad."

Bilbo deftly tied one thin, dark green stem to the other and shrugged Glóin's arm off his shoulder before taking hold of his forearm and draping the chain over his guardian's wrist, seemingly measuring it.

"What's going on here?" Glóin asked.

"It's a Shire tradition." Bilbo answered, linking the ends together and beaming proudly at his creation. "Do you like it?"

Glóin had no choice. True, it was highly unDwarvish to wear flowers, but he was utterly defenceless against the hope in those emerald-green eyes.

"It's very pretty. Thank you." he eventually answered. He wasn't lying. There were two flowers with five petals which were white with a bright yellow middle. Another three were pink, delicate and soft. At the top was a pale green plant, secured in place by entwining stems

"Wonderful. Did you find Óin?"

"I did, yes. He took an age, but agreed after a while."

"Can we go now, please?"

Taking his eyes off his new accessory, Glóin nodded. "Sounds like a good enough ide


	19. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glóin has a proposal (of a non-romantic nature, thank you very much!) for Bilbo. Nori shows his helpful side and Beorn gets affectionate.

The first trip outside went without a hitch and Óin begrudgingly admitted that perhaps it would be alright for Bilbo to move around more. It made the hobbit happy, which meant his going outside concerned Glóin very little.

Until now.

He was a patient Dwarf. He had told the same bedtime tales to Gimli thousands of times. He'd fixed the wobbly leg on the dining room table more times than he liked to admit and he prided himself on his ability to put up with annoying people for hours on end without losing his temper.

But this. This would  _not_  do.

It started the day Bilbo had gone outdoors for the first time. Their host had took am immediate interest to his littlest guest and the next day, decided to take him on a tour around his fields.

Then the affectionate pats on the head and the nicknames started.

_'That's just what he likes to do,'_ Glóin thought. ' _He's a decent fellow, and it's not like he'll decide he wants to keep Bilbo with him.'_

So, with this mantra in mind, he put up with Beorn's affectionate actions, telling himself that Beorn was, at least, friendly to Bilbo.

* * *

"Where's that lad gone off to now?" Glóin wondered to himself three days after Beorn's noticing of Bilbo.

"Saw him with the skinchanger not so long ago." Bombur informed him.

"Hmph."

Óin gave him a knowing look. "Now then. He may have taken a liking to your lad, but it's not as though he's off... Braiding Bilbo's hair and what-have-you."

Glóin grunted in response and crossed his arms. Turning to Óin, he said, "Sooner we're away from him, the better. I don't like it."

"We'll be off soon,  _nadad_. I see Bilbo's shadow now, so wipe that frown off your face. He'll die of fright, I shouldn't wonder."

" _You_  look a hundred tines more frightening when you  _are_ smiling." Glóin retorted, earning a snort of amusement from his brother.

He turned to face Bilbo.

And stared.

"Beorn, um.. found some flowers.." Bilbo quietly explained, pointing at his head which now were not crowned in their coppery-golden curls, but were now crowned in bright, small plants.

_Beorn had crossed a line._

"Óin," Glóin murmured, still taken aback by what he'd just seen. "Would you mind helping Bilbo take...  _those_  off his head?"

At Óin's mumble of agreement, Glóin beckoned Bombur over.

"Go and find whoever you can and tell them to wait outside." he whispered. Glancing back to Óin who was carefully picking the flowers our of the back of Bilbo's head, he deftly signed with his hands, requesting that when he was finished to find them, but without Bilbo.

At Óin's nod of comprehension, he followed Bombur to find his kin.

* * *

"Why are we here?" Óri questioned.

"Master Beorn put flowers in Bilbo's hair." Bombur revealed.

"Yes," said Glóin. "And he did so by fiddling about with his hair!"

"He  _didn't_!" Dwalin protested. "Surely he didn't."

"He did indeed." Óin told his cousin. "And it was a bugger to undo, I can tell you!"

"Do you want us to decapitate him while he sleeps?"

"No. Well, not yet. I'd like to give Bilbo a family braid. Marking him as a member of our family."

"Why are we here to only hear that?" Nori asked.

"I want to know what you all think."

"I approve!"

"I do, too!"

"I don't think," Balin said, cutting through the calls of agreement. "That you will find anyone who disagrees. We like him. Neoma will love him."

"I know, but I have a favour to ask. You all know what this braid means.  _He_  doesn't have a blessed  _clue_."

"I'll teach him." Balin volunteered. "I taught Dwalin by telling the story of my first braid."

"I appreciate it, cousin."

Balin gave a twinkly smile and took a step forward. "Would you like me to tell him now?"

"That'd be good, I can give it to him after dinner. But don't tell him what's going to happen!"

* * *

After ten minutes of fruitless searching, Balin found Bilbo leafing through a book on herbs.

"You alright, laddie?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. I'm fine,thank you." Bilbo placed the book down and got to his feet. "And you?"

"I am well, thank you. I hear you had a lot of new hair accessories today."

Bilbo laughed. "Oh, I did. Master Beorn thought it looked sweet. I rather believed Glóin would kill him when he first saw."

"Dwarves value hair. We braid it, you know."

"I always did wonder about braids."

"They're given to us by the most special people in our lives," Balin told him. "The first braid is given to us by our parents. One from our father, one from our mother."

"Do you have one?"

"Yes." Balin turned his head and lightly pushed back a segment of snow-white hair, giving Bilbo a glimpse of twin braids, thin and secured with a tiny silvery bead keeping them closed. "Well, two really. I remember my father gave this really long speech, most of which went over my head, I'm sorry to say."

"What did he say?"

"The same things all fathers tell their children. That they are heaven-blessed and have brought great pride and joy. Children are very precious to us, Bilbo. No matter their age, no matter what they are, we adore our children."

"You seem to all be excellent parents."

Balin chuckled. "We try. Come, let's see where the others have gone, shall we?"

* * *

Glóin had never been so nervous. Sitting at the high table, he kept snatching glances at Bilbo and then away as though looking too long would reveal his intentions.  
Ridiculous. He wasn't planning on any wrongdoing! Yet, he felt hot and clammy and vaguely trembled at the thought.

_What the hell was he going to say?!_

Óin must have noticed, for he quietly whispered in his brother's ear.

"No point in panicking, lad. You did well the first time, you'll do well now."

"Will you be with me?"

"Yes. Someone needs to ensure you don't blow it."

At this, Glóin near-choked on air. He threw a mild curse word his brother's way and reached for his mug, sipping the sweet liquid and refusing to meet his sibling's eye for fear of laughing again.

"Are you alright?" Bilbo asked, eyes wide in concern.

"I'm fine, my  _pundurith_. Don't worry."

Óin chortled to himself and squeezed his brother's shoulder.

* * *

Instead of going back to the sleeping quarters, Glóin took Bilbo's elbow and ensured Óin was still with them and went to find somewhere with no prying eyes where he could carry his task out in peace.

Óin had been jesting (he hoped). They both knew that as the eldest of Gróin's line, he had to be present for the ceremony.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll know soon."

"Can I know now?"

Glóin snorted and moved his arm to link it through Bilbo's, having spotted an empty room at long last.

* * *

There were boxes and barrels littering the room. Good. He could get Bilbo to sit if he accepted the offer of family.

"Why are we here?" Bilbo wanted to know.

Óin very deliberately removed his ear horn and looked the other way, allowing his brother some form of privacy while Glóin made shaky eye contact with Bilbo.

"I care very deeply for you," he awkwardly began. "You know that I see you as my own child. I would like you become a part of our family through Dwarven rites if you are willing."

"You wish to have me as a member of your family?"

"I wish to have you as my son. I know you have your own father and that you love him, but if you wish, I'm here."

Bilbo was silent, his brow creased. Glóin knew it wouldn't be an easy decision and patted his shoulder. It had been a premature assumption to think they might get the braid done tonight.

"I'll be in the quarters if you need me."

Softly knocking Óin's shoulder, he exited the room, leaving Bilbo to his thoughts.

* * *

Bilbo left the room as soon as he could, needing to feel cool, refreshing air to clear his head.

He found a rock by the river and sat, hugging himself tightly.

It was one thing to have an informal relationship, but he knew what Glóin intended, he knew why and it felt so disloyal to Bungo!  
Yes,, he'd been dead for a good six years, but he had been his father. It was an awful idea to move on from him. Yet...

He felt safe, loved, wanted with Glóin. The warmth and care that had once emanated from Bungo now came from this Dwarf. He wanted to say 'yes'. But how could he?

"You look  _so_  happy." Nori's deadpan voice trailed. "Care to share?"

"Not particularly."

"Tough." Nori sat by him without invitation. "Tell me what happened."

"Well.. The thing is. He- Oh, you wouldn't understand!"

"Try me."

Bilbo sighed."Alright. My own papa died over half a decade ago. And... well..."

" _Someone_  wants you in their family."

"Yes."

"You don't want to..?"

"I do!" Bilbo declared. "It's just, it feels disloyal to him."

"Bilbo. If your dad was here right now, what would he say?"

"He'd say 'I blame your mother for this!'"

Nori snickered. "Be serious. What would he think?"

"Well, I imagine he'd be glad I had someone who cared. He'd probably tell me to say yes to the... thing."

"Presumably, this Dwarf loves you like you're his lad. Do you love  _him_  like he's your dad?"

"I do." Bilbo admitted.

"So. He loves you. You love him. You know now that your father, Mahal rest him, would gladly give his consent. What's the problem?"

"There isn't one."

"Well then!" Nori looked highly pleased. "I suppose you'd better go find your Dwarrow."

Bilbo smiled discreetly and stood, turning away.

"Oy!"

Attention freshly caught, Bilbo turned his head. "Yes?"

"Welcome to the family."


	20. Of Fathers and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds Sting and recalls his first killing. Glóin consoles him and Bilbo remembers he has something to tell him

Finding Glóin was an easy task if one knew him well enough. Bilbo searched around outside, trying to find him, then going back to where he'd last seen Glóin and Óin, but was forced to give up, realising that his guardian was nowhere.

Making his way to their sleeping quarters, he peered at each bundle of straw, sighing as each one revealed itself to be empty. As he drew closer to his, he prodded at it with his foot as though Glóin was hiding inside it.

Of course he wasn't, but the action gave a sudden CLANK! moments before a shining, silver object came into view. Crouching, he pulled it out, sharply inhaling once he discovered what it was.

His sword.

No longer covered in the sticky, thick blackness of the blood of Goblin, Orc and Warg, it shone brightly as ever while its current owner set his jaw and trembled, remembering how he'd stabbed, sliced, wounded and killed creatures with it.

It seemed to burn him and he flung the weapon away, the blade making a loud clattering.  
His legs were turning shaky and weak. He didn't want to fall and tried to remain standing, but his legs won the battle, taking him to the wooden floor.

"Laddie? Are you alright?"

Strong hands carefully gripped his shoulders. Bilbo shivered and his guardian knelt beside him, and lurched forward, grabbing onto him as though afraid Glóin could and would disappear into thin air. He was distantly aware of something rubbing his back, of a gruff voice murmuring something to him, but paid no heed to this, preferring to bury his face in the Dwarf's shoulder, auburn hairs lightly tickling his jawline and cheeks.

"Is it wrong to kill other creatures?" he eventually whispered, pulling back.

"If they were trying to kill or harm you, no it isn't."

"But they were living creatures."

"They weren't good, were they?"

"Well, no, but shouldn't... I shouldn't.." Bilbo paused. He didn't know how he could relay his feelings to Glóin and sighed softly.

"Your first killing?" Glóin asked in a gentle tone.

"Yes." Bilbo whispered.

"What do you feel?"

"Shame and.. guilt." Bilbo answered.

"That's normal," Glóin assured him. "But you have to know: You're  _not_  like them, killing for the sake of it. You did what you did out of self-defence and loyalty."

Bilbo shook his head and shuffled closer. "When you first.. um..."

"When I first killed?"

"Yes. Did you feel like this?"

"Everybody does. It's natural to feel like how you feel afterwards."

"Were you very young?"

Glóin stilled, removing an arm to reach around and rub at the crown of his head. "Yes," he answered after some time. "I was a bit young."

"How old?" Bilbo wanted to know.

"I was.. I was sixteen years old, if you must know."

"Sixteen?" Bilbo's eyes were wide, as Gimli's had been when he'd been told the tale. "But that's very young! Why did they let you?"

"They didn't. I went with Óin and our father, only because I told them I'd help Óin with the less injured. The minute he turned his back, off I went."  
Glóin stopped his tale for a moment, recollecting his memories. "You've heard of this battle before," he told Bilbo. "The Battle of Moria, Ananulbizar, in our tongue.  
It was a very loud environment. No place for one as young as I, though I wasn't the only young one. There was no stopping with the attacks. Flashes of silver, steel and other dark metals whirred around, accompanied by ringing clashes and the unearthly howls of the dying ones.  
I didn't know where I was going. There I was, barely growing stubble, smaller than you, with only an old miner's ax for protection. My poor father, Mahal rest him, likely thought he was going mad when he first saw me."

"What did he say?"

"I'm not repeating those words to you." Glóin told him firmly. "He wasn't pleased to say the least of it.  
We discussed the situation as we fought. Our uncle, Fundin, was bellowing at my father and I to stop chattering and watch what we were doing instead. We didn't.  
I don't know what happened. One minute I was aiming at an Orc, next thing I knew, Óin was there and I was staring up at canvas."

"Your father?"

"He was looking for Fundin. Our uncle fought bravely and well, but didn't survive the battle." Glóin inhaled slowly. "I'll never forget it. Our father came in, sat with us and said, 'You are one of the rare few who haven't lost a brother today.'"

"That's awful."

"It is. He wouldn't let himself sleep for fear of what he would see in his dreams."

"What about you?"

"Had the worst nightmares you could imagine." Glóin replied. "I'd wake up, convinced everyone was dead, convinced I was dead and worse.  
I'd been far too young for war. It was my own fault I had those dreams. Didn't stop my father from staying with me through it."

"Parents protect and care for their children." Bilbo murmured.

"They do," Glóin agreed, curling his free arm back around Bilbo.

"What did you call your father?" Bilbo asked.

"Hmm? What d'you mean, laddie?"

"I called my father my 'papa'. What did you call yours?"

"Adad. That's what we Dwarves call our fathers."

Bilbo shuffled a tad, trying to discover the right words. "Would you mind terribly if I called you Adad?"

Glóin moved his head, lightly knocking his jaw against Bilbo's forehead. "You've decided already?"

There was such surprise in his tone that Bilbo nearly laughed. "Yes, I have."

* * *

 

"I told you I'd sort it, didn't I?"

Óin gave Nori a steely look. "Less they know about it, the better," he warned. "Why'd you help, anyway?"

"Well, who knows how long it would have taken?" Nori replied. "He's got less patience than you, even."

Óin sputtered in indignation. "Of course I have patience!" he said crossly. "When you were little and had broken bones and refused to stop wriggling about, I never lost my temper."

Nori grinned in reminiscence. "Hey. Speak of the devil."

Bilbo, Óin noticed, had something different about him. The right side of his head, where his curls spiralled up and down, looked subdued. The halfling turned his head, revealing a gleam of silver. So. Nori's influence had paid off.

"Add yours in." Glóin suggested, gently pushing Bilbo towards Óin. "Not too long, though."

Bilbo's hair was short, but it was near his shoulders, courtesy of the long months spent without scissors. Still, the longest tresses had more or less been used up, making Óin glare at his stoic sibling.

"Aye, that's right, leave the hardest bit to me!"

Bifur, who had been watching with solemn eyes, suddenly grinned and went to whisper something in Óin's ear.  
Whatever he said, it was too quiet for the healer's brother to know, but it made Óin twist his head and give Bifur a look of stunned disbelief.

"You cheeky..."

Bifur's grin only widened and he wandered away, lightly chortling to himself as he did so.

Óin muttered something inaudible and ignored repeated requests for knowledge of what Bifur had told him.


	21. Clashes of Metal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glóin attempts to teach Bilbo to fight. Bilbo reveals his surprising knowledge of curse words.

Having Glóin as a father was really no different to having him as a guardian.

Well. The hugs were more frequent, but that was about as far as it was.

Dwalin seemed to find it amusing when Bilbo mentioned it to him. Since the braiding and Bilbo's rescue of Thorin, he'd warmed greatly to the smaller creature, even to the point of flashing a smile when he saw him coming.

"I thought you might find that," the taller Dwarf said, smiling softly downwards. "No, he's always treated you as his own, from what I've seen."

"Are all Dwarves like him?"

Dwalin thought, before slowly shaking his head. "Hmm, not exactly."

"What d'you mean?"

"You get some - rarely, mind - who are scum toward those left in their care. Treat 'em like slaves, hurt 'em... just generally nasty folk. Luckily, it hardly ever happens."

"And Glóin's not like that."

Dwalin shook his head. "No, not him." he patted Bilbo's shoulder and made to turn. "I'm visiting Thorin to see if he's up for any training. Don't stay alone too long, alright?"

"I'll come inside with you," Bilbo offered. "I'll never understand how he wants to fight barely a week after being half-eaten..."

Dwalin simply huffed a laugh in reply.

* * *

Watching his cousin disappear into the room that held Thorin, Glóin looked toward where Bilbo moved to where Dori sat on a stool, fixing a pair of woollen mittens.

Dwalin had been talking about getting Thorin to fight rather a lot. Giving stares and glances Glóin's way in a very pointed manner.

Glóin knew exactly why. In a short number of days, perhaps six, if they were fortunate, they would be going into the old forest which was filled with evil creatures, cursed waters and Elves among other equally vile and dangerous things.

Bilbo needed to know how to fight. As adad to him, it was Glóin's responsibility to see to it that Bilbo could defend himself. They couldn't stay here forever and time was already running short.  
Though he dearly hoped he could always be there to protect Bilbo, he knew that there would, one day, come a time when Bilbo would have to fight alone.

"Getting all misty-eyed, are we?"

"Piss off, Bofur."

"That is right charming, 'specially with my cousin being so close to your brother."

Glóin shot him a sharp look which was ignored with Bofur choosing to give him a particularly happy smile.

"Aye. I've seen that exact look before." Bofur said, nodding so the flaps of his hat trembled. "Moments before you marched your firstborn off to the training halls to visit his second cousin, who, about now, is likely using his most petrifying stare to get Thorin to play outside with him."

"It's not playing, it's fighting, you fool." Glóin corrected. "And we have no training halls. Master Beorn requested us to keep it outside after what you and Fíli did while messing about two days ago."

"Don't you start with it, now. I had Bifur shouting about it all day. So. What's the plan for getting our hobbit battle-worthy?"

"Bilbo's going to hate me by the end of it."

"Ah, he won't! Even if he does get annoyed, he'll forget all about his annoyance soon enough. Go on and get it going."

Glóin nodded and glanced at Bofur. "Aye, you're right, I suppose. See you later."

He missed the fact that Bofur's eyes held a mischievous glint.

* * *

First things first. Weapon.

Bilbo paled upon seeing the sword again. "Gl- Adad, I can't."

"You can. Just hold it in your hands."

"But.."

"You mustn't fear the dagger. The weapon is a protector, a loyal friend. It won't harm you, but you must know how to fight with it."

Holding out quivering hands, Bilbo accepted the sword, though he gave it a very unhappy look as he did so.

"Tie it into your belt like I showed you. That's it."  
In truth the belt, if it could be called such a thing, was only a mere strip of leather that had taken a good hour to teach Bilbo to master. Glóin only hoped that the fighting would be easier for him.

"Must I learn to swordfight?"

Glóin squeezed his shoulder. "Yes, you must. It's best you learn what you can while you can."

* * *

Glóin was going to murder Bofur.

Looking at them with That Look on his dimpled face. He could vaguely recall a time when Bofur had been innocent and sweet. Oh, he missed those days.

"Don't mind if I overlook, do you?"

Hmm. Glóin nodded his consent after a while, but Bilbo was too occupied with the dagger he bore.

Reaching to grasp one of his knives which was kept safely inside his coat (unless Nori decided to 'borrow' it), he unsheathed it and cleared his throat to gain Bilbo's attention.

"The knife I have is close in size to yours," he explained. "So you should be able to block hits at least."

Glóin assumed so, anyway. Any fool could deflect a hit, right?

* * *

No. No, they could not. Glóin had lost count of the amount of times he'd told Bilbo that they would have to start again. He held his weapon properly, but when the sword got hit, he kept dropping it.

It was enough to drive a Dwarf mad. Bofur's well-meaning calls of encouragement (to whom they were directed, Glóin didn't know) weren't helping either.

"Gló- Adad, I can't do this." Bilbo panted, leaning upon the handle of his sword.

"You certainly can!" Glóin retorted. "And be careful with your feet, laddie. Come, we'll have another go at it."

A voice behind Bofur made him jump, grinning from ear-to-ear when he turned to see Nori peering rather curiously at the practising duo in the foreground.

"What's this?"

"Glóin," Bofur giggled, "is teaching Bilbo to swordfight."

Nori's olive-green eyes widened in horror. "And you're  _letting_  him?"

"Aye."

"You're bloody evil," Nori declared. "Budge over, so I can watch."

"Poor thing keeps dropping his blade."

"Everyone's fumbly with their first lesson." Nori said.

Bilbo was warily eyeing where Bofur was. Glancing over, Glóin could hardly blame him. Nori fancied himself something of a comedian at the best of times, and this was the worst. Particularly with Bofur close by and still smiling so hard his eyes crinkled.

"Here, Glóin! Your overgrown cousin and His Royal Highness will be here in a bit. Saw Dwalin dragging him from his map a minute ago." Nori called.

"Hmm. Alright, laddie. We'll have another go or two and that's that 'til tomorrow. Keep a tight grip." Glóin instructed.

Dwalin and Thorin often wound up chasing each other during their mock-battles. Swinging their swords around, blind and deaf to everything else around them... It was no place for a young hobbit.

"I already had it in a tighter grip," Bilbo murmured.

"Hold tighter if you can." Glóin instructed.

Once again, metal clanged together. Once again, the Elven blade swung onto the plushy green grass.

Glóin fought a sigh. "Pick it up, we'll try again."

Hoping that this would finally be the last attempt for the day, Bilbo lifted the sword and gripped it so fiercely that his knuckles turned white and he could feel the lines in the hilt digging into his palms, making him wince.

And swore colourfully when the blasted weapon became airborne once more.

To be quite frank, Glóin hadn't expected to hear words like that from Bilbo. Any of the others, barring the Wizard and Skinchanger, but certainly not the hobbit.

Out of the mouths of babes indeed!

"Who taught you those?" Glóin demanded.

"My mama taught me." Bilbo answered, snatching his sword up again. "Don't look like that! She didn't mean to. It was Yule and she'd drunk too much ale."

"I never want to hear you saying those words again," Glóin told him. "Right then. We'd best go in before those two come along and slice our heads off."

Bilbo sheathed his sword, looking woeful. Glóin gently traced the hobbit's braid.

"Don't fret now. There's always tomorrow."

* * *

Bilbo was rather subdued for the remainder of the evening, which meant that he was, indeed, fretting.

After nearly an hour of the little crease between the halfling's eyebrows deepening, as he rested on the straw and gazed into the distance, Glóin had enough of it.

"Hey," he lightly touched his shoulder. "What's wrong, my laddie?"

"I didn't do very well, did I?"

"Now then,  _pundurith_. It wasn't  _too_  bad. You blocked well enough. You just need to keep your grip."

"I can't look at it the way I used to. I know where it's been, what it did. What I did."

Glóin carefully pulled Bilbo closer to his side, securing him with his arm. "Need we have the discussion again?"

"No, it's just... I don't know, I just feel numb in my arms when I hold it."

"Well, you can look at it as something that took lives, or you can look at it as the blade which saved the lives of you and Thorin."

"And you."

Glóin hid a grimace, but rubbed Bilbo's shoulder and nodded. "Yes."

Bilbo didn't say anything, but he looked less daunted and more cheered than he had. He relaxed, and as the Dwarf's other arm came up to envelop him, he lay his chin on the sturdy shoulder and breathed freely for the first time since that ill-fated lesson


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glóin watches over his sleeping hobbit-son. Gandalf shares memories and Beorn reveals a thought he has.

It was nightfall by the time Dwalin and Thorin returned to the Company, rumpled with twigs and leaves sticking from their hair.

Óin eyed his two cousins with a knowing gaze. "What have you done to yourselves?"

Dwalin looked distinctly sheepish as he mumbled something about "Thorin" and "Prickly bush".

Óin muttered a bad word. "You are the biggest pair of dolts I ever did meet! Wrestling about like a pair of overgrown beardlings."

"We do not 'wrestle'. We fight." Thorin corrected.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" the healer asked, ignoring his king's words.

"I think Thorin broke my shin."

"If you can stand right, nothing is broken." Óin said, with the air of a Dwarf who'd talked too often about this kind of thing.

A shadow fell before a gravelly voice rumbled. "Would you like to come for your dinner or can I have it to myself?"

Lost in the crowd from his new adad, Bilbo was stopped by Beorn suddenly dropping to his knees and beaming at him. "So little!"

Oh, Gods. Bilbo hated this. He was aware of his tinyness, he hardly needed reminding, not with thirteen Dwarves who were all at least a few inches taller than he was.  
Still, the skinchanger was a kindly person and he meant well. Bilbo turned his head to avoid his braid becoming damaged as a colossal paw ruffled his hair and waited for Beorn to stand again before walking on.

* * *

The taller being watched Bilbo for quite some time and then began chuckling to himself. "I have decided what animal you are most like."

"A cat," Kíli said.

"Close enough, but no." Beorn said. "It is a rabbit he is most like."

"You clearly haven't seen him with sharp objects." Fíli told him, glancing at the hobbit while he spoke.

"Rabbits have sharp claws. How else do you suppose they build their little burrows?" Beorn asked.

There was a sudden and, to Bilbo, frightening silence as the Dwarves thought this new information through.

"No," said Bombur. "Apologies, Master Beorn, but he's nowhere near plump enough to be a rabbit!"

"You should know," muttered Nori, earning a whack to the head from Bofur.

Beorn was chortling again. His deep, raspy huffs of laughter followed him as he exited the room and went toward some other part of his Halls.

"And how have the rest of you been?" Gandalf questioned. "I do apologise for being so absent. Beorn had many questions."

"Resting, training, packing," Balin listed off. His eyebrows were crinkled as though he was trying hard to remember something, but his mouth smiled. "Anything else happened, lads?"

Murmurs of 'I can't think of anything' and that ilk trailed after Balin's words, with particularly meaningful looks headed Glóin and Bilbo's way.

"We have," Glóin said,"a new addition in our family."

Gandalf lit his pipe, humming thoughtfully. Inserting it into his mouth, he raised an eyebrow in interest. "Have you indeed? Who is this person?"

"Bilbo."

Gandalf's face betrayed nothing, but his eyes turned all at once sharp and focused. "I see."

There were no more words from their Wizard for the remainder of the meal.

* * *

It was very hot that night. Though Bilbo didn't seem to notice, if the way he curled himself up tightly and clung onto Glóin like a little limpet was any indication.

He did look happy. And peaceful. Content, as though he was in the very place he needed to be in the most.

After Gimli had been born, Glóin had taken one look at his weakened, trembling wife who smiled joyfully despite her pain as she cradled their newborn son, and he decided in that moment there would be no more children. How could he ever put his One through that kind of pain again? Yes, she smiled now, but he'd  _heard_  the high-pitched screams, he'd  _seen_  her face crumpled in agony. He'd heard her pleading for it all to be over.

No. He would never do that to his wife again. Neoma had agreed with this, saying quite confidently as she held Gimli, "Passing a babe just once is enough for me."

Sometimes his resolve weakened, particularly when he saw Gimli's eyes shine in longing as he was told of Dwalin and Balin's various mishaps, the mischief that his father and uncle had gotten into, of the Terrible Trio made up of Thorin and Frerin and Dís (though tales of Thorin and his two siblings were rarely told).  
Gimli looked at Óri and Fíli and Kíli with ill-disguised envy, for they had at least one brother.

Oh, Gimli was loved dearly, of course. All Dwarflings were. But his greatest longing, Glóin knew, was for a brother or sister.

He knew Neoma would love Bilbo. She was nurturing and warm-hearted, though no less tougher than any other Dwarrowdam. In fact, he knew her to be tougher, and stronger too, than any other Dwarrowdam.

Temporarily taking his thoughts away from Neoma,Glóin found the smooth, yet bumpy texture of Bilbo's family braid, gently touching it with his fingertips.

It felt he was carrying on a tradition. Two children he now had, same as his father and uncle and his grandfather.

Though, Fundin and Gróin would have a thing or two to say about their 39 year old sons heading off to steal from a Dragon. It was no place for a child. Yes, he knew Bilbo was an adult hobbit, but in Dwarrow years, he was a youngling and a very young one at that.

And he was now his. His son.

Glóin wrapped his arms around the slumbering form on his chest. Bilbo wriggled at the new contact, but didn't awake.

"I didn't expect this to happen." Gandalf's voice murmured.

Glóin glanced up at the Wizard. "Didn't hear you coming."

The Wizard 'hmmed' to himself. "Most extraordinary."

"I imagine plenty of things have happened without you thinking they would!" Glóin told him.

"Well, yes, but the thought never entered my mind."

Glóin shook his head. "It's not my fault I became fond of him."

"I didn't say that it was. I'm glad you've cared for him so much. He needs a family who truly loves him, rather than her."

Glóin didn't ask who "her" was. He'd heard Bilbo tell of a sticky-fingered cousin he was afflicted with far too many times to even bother asking.

"I'm glad." Gandalf said again. "As would Belladonna and Bungo be, though the dear fellow would be slightly panicked at the close proximity that often occurs between Bilbo and that ax of yours..."

"Ah, he's alright. Doesn't touch it or anything." Glóin glanced at Bilbo's curly head, suddenly feeling a tad suspicious. "Well, I hope not, anyways."

"So do I," Gandalf rumbled. "He stole my staff once when he was about nine years old, and blew the petals off his father's petunias."

There was no anger in the Wizard's voice as he told this tale and Glóin allowed himself a chuckle, imagining the scene. A little version of Bilbo, scampering around with the large staff, a guilty expression when he realised what he'd done.

Gandalf stood, amusement gone from his features. "You must remember, however, that hobbits are different to Dwarves. Very different indeed in strength, customs and methods of upbringing. You must continue to be careful."

"Aye, I will do." Glóin promised. "Gandalf?"

"Yes?"

"Despite what you said, I think you  _did_  know something was going to happen."

"Hmm. Do you?" Gandalf questioned.

"Yes."

Gandalf hummed again. "Goodnight, Glóin."

And, as quickly as he'd arrived, the Wizard had vanished. Glóin gave the sleeping Shireling another sharp gaze.

"I ruddy well hope," he said, "that you've left my ax well alone, young hobbit!"


	23. Knowing Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin talks to Glóin about Bilbo's swordfighting lessons. Glóin wonders what he's to do when it comes to discipline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEAR.MAHAL. 
> 
> This was probably the most awkward thing I've ever written. But it turned out well, even if I do say so myself.

Glóin's advice to Bilbo turned out to be excellent advice indeed. The next lesson in swordfighting proved better with no weapons flying out of hands and, to his approval, no cursing from his little  _pundurith_.

"You're doing well with your little sword, my lad," he praised at the end of the several hours, having seen Dwalin exiting the large building. "Very well indeed."

Bilbo beamed. "Thank you."

As they entered the skin-changer's Halls, Bilbo headed toward the washrooms, while Balin beckoned Glóin over, apparently havig something of great importance to discuss with him.

"My brother feels you have wounded him terribly." Balin said mildly.

"How have I managed that?"

"It seems  _he_  wanted to be the one to train Bilbo."

Glóin snorted. "Cousin, I wouldn't  _dream_ of inflicting Dwalin on Bilbo."

"Just because he can be a wee bit intensive..."

"'A wee bit intensive'? He doesn't let his students go 'til he's happy. And that takes forever, you know it does. My poor lad would be half-dead by the time we reach the forest! And that," Glóin said, "is if he even lets Dwalin train him for so long at all."

"He wouldn't be that bad!" Balin argued.

"Oh, yes he would.  _You_  weren't trained by him as a youngling."

Balin groaned. "Not this again."

" _Yes_ , this again. Stuck in a room with naught but him and your weapon for company. Practically falling over your own feet at the end of it. Near drowning in your own sweat and blood! You wish for me to put Bilbo through that?"

"I would ensure," Balin said, his tone coaxing, "that Dwalin would do no such thing."

"Like you did with Gimli?"

"I mean it. I told him  _'I'll ask Glóin, but you must promise to not run your student into the ground'_. And he did promise. Come now, you know Dwalin to be a good teacher."

Glóin sighed. "Very well," he conceded. "Bilbo does need to be able to defend himself and Dwalin can wield a sword better than I can. But I'll skin him alive if he doesn't be careful!"

* * *

In the corner of his eye, Glóin noticed Bilbo. He was still dry, and looked as though he'd witnessed something terrible. Standing, Glóin walked over to him, feeling concerned.

"What's wrong?"

Bilbo looked doubtful. "I.. um. Nothing's  _wrong,_ but I saw something I don't think I should've."

"Was it bad?"

"No, it was more a thing of... well, it wasn't  _bad_ , really."

"Did you see... a couple?"

Bilbo nodded, the tips of his ears reddening.

"Aye, that's alright. These things happen. Just ask Óin!"

Sliding an arm 'round Bilbo's shoulders, he brought him back inside, missing completely the nervous look that had overcome the hobbit's expression at the mention of Óin.

* * *

It hadn't been his fault, Bilbo reflected as he smoked his pipe, staring at the shining stars above. He'd only intended on going in to have a bath. He'd certainly not meant to witness Bifur and Óin's sudden closeness.

This was no strange Dwarven custom. Bilbo knew exactly what he'd seen and wished he hadn't. Glóin had the most awful ability of knowing just about everything that went on in Bilbo's mind. It had been a wonder that the Dwarf accepted the explanation.

'No need to dwell," he told himself, puffing a small cloud of smoke into the dark air. 'It's good that they're happy. Óin can let Gl- Adad know when he wants to.'

He spotted the moon, rising up and gleaming a beautiful silvery-white. Breathing in once more, he pursed his lips as his parents had taught him, attempting for the first time in weeks to create a smoke-ring.

The first success was tiny. So small that Bilbo nearly laughed at the sight of it. He had another try, watching his second circle rise and widen, dwarfing the first.

"That's clever work, akhûnith."

He'd wondered how long it would be 'til Glóin would seek him out. The Dwarrow often let him have his solitude, but invariably sought him out, perhaps worrying for him or merely curious. Bilbo could never tell and never felt like he could ask.

"Thank you. Can you do them?" Bilbo questioned, lightly patting the bottom of the bowl so that its powdery ashes scattered to the grass they stood on.

"I never mastered the skill." Glóin answered. "When Óin and I were beardlings, our  _adad_  would ask us what shapes the smoke from his pipe made. This was before he allowed a pipe into our hands, mind."

Bilbo's eyes were wide. "My papa did that, too." he said quite softly. "He didn't let me smoke until I turned 31."

"Thirty one! Da would growl at us if we so much as looked to his pipe 'til the age of sixty!"

Bilbo grinned and looked away, a new memory flashing in his mind. To his Adad's surprise, he began giggling.

"What's so amusing, little  _pundurith_?"

"Oh, I was terrible." Bilbo coughed between laughter.

"Oh?"

"My papa kept his pipe on the mantelpiece. When I was fifteen... curiosity got the better of me..." Bilbo sheepishly trailed off, glancing at Glóin with apologetic green eyes.

"Tell me you didn't try it for yourself!"

"I did." Bilbo confessed, hanging his head. "I nearly coughed my lungs up!"

"It served you right, trying to smoke so young!" Glóin growled, though he instinctively placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "By Aüle! Hobbits seem to rival Dwarflings in their love of mischief."

"My mother nearly cried laughing." Bilbo recalled. "My papa was less than pleased, as you can imagine. He would have scolded me all day if I hasn't been so shaken up by it."

A mere scolding for disobedience? Gróin would have clumped his sons 'round their heads for such an act. And that would have been lenient!

Not that their Adad had been harsh or cruel. He was a soft old devil and had been informed of such on multiple occasions, which had only made him smile.  
Perhaps hobbit fathers were gentler than Dwarrow fathers.

"G- Adad? Are you alright?" Bilbo questioned, lightly tugging Glóin's sleeve.

"Aye, my laddie. Just thinking."

"What of?"

"When your mother and your papa were still here.." Glóin stopped, unsure of how to continue. How could he ask this?

"Yes?" Bilbo prompted.

"When they were still on Arda and you misbehaved, which likely occurred regularly..."

Bilbo interrupted with a small snicker, but nodded for Glóin to continue.

"What did they do?" Glóin finished.

"Ah." Bilbo sobered himself up. "Well, my papa dealt with it mostly. They'd give me a right earful, but if I was in true trouble, they'd almost roar at me."

"Why only-?"

"'Only'? Have you ever heard a hobbit bellow at someone?"  
Before his adad could answer, Bilbo hastily said, "I don't count. I mean really angry, livid shouting. Like when Gandalf gets angry."

Glóin sincerely hoped he would never make a hobbit so cross. "Are you sure now? If you were a wee lad, it could've seemed more frightening than it actually was."

"It did seem frightening. The last time either shouted was when I was 18. I'd been caught raiding Farmer Maggott's field."

He'd ended up with the world's most mischievous hobbit, Glóin realised. A raid on a farmer's field!

"That's what most hobbit parents do," Bilbo said. "What of dwarf parents?"

"Dwarves have tough skin and rarely feel pain. Parents will often clout their children for misbehaviour."

Bilbo blinked. "But doesn't that hurt?"

"That's the general idea. The pain serves as a reminder for several hours-"

"Hours?!"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Bilbo looked down at Glóin's hands which suddenly seemed very large and terrifying. He shivered and Glóin swiftly brought him into his arms.

"I would not strike you. Hobbits are softer creatures- no, don't look at me like that, they are and you know it. No. I'd likely kill you with one hit or end up leaving a mark."

"I honestly can't imagine you hitting."

"I don't if I can help it."

And Gimli had turned out wonderfully despite what that pinch-faced dignitary from the Iron Hills had to say.

"Would it be unfair? One of us not getting, um.."

"As I told you, it's a rare thing for me. A rare thing indeed, and I'd rather not cause you harm. Answering for your mistakes to a parent should not leave a hint of a mark."

"But, really, do you honestly believe that one day you will have to... do something?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why so?"

"I know you far too well, that's why. Getting yourself in danger and wounding yourself every five seconds. By the time we reach Erebor, I'll be grey."

"You'd look like Balin." Bilbo informed him, burying his head into Glóin's shoulder.

Glóin gave him a mock-glare. "Why, you cheeky young devil!"

Bilbo chuckled, pulling away to smile at him. "I was joking."

"So I should hope." Glóin replied, though he smiled back. "'Ere, speaking of Balin.."


	24. Fighting and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin and Bilbo's lesson doesn't go too well. Glóin and Bilbo discuss age.

So. Dwalin was to be his new tutor in the fighting arts. Bilbo would be lying if he said that the thought alone was not daunting.  
Originally, he'd thought Glóin thought he wasn't doing well at all with his sword and had been worried about it 'til his adad realised and made haste to assure him it was nothing of the sort.

"I am not so skilled with the sword as I am with the ax. Dwalin can teach you better than I."

"Well..." Bilbo had been put out by it all. "Are you sure?"

"I think it'd be a good idea." Glóin answered.

* * *

The lesson didn't end well. Glóin could see that with half an eye. Bilbo was shooting Dwalin withering looks which the warrior returned.

"Aim. 'Tis all in the aim." Dwalin muttered.

To which Bilbo growled,"I'll show you aim, you great pillock!"

Glóin tutted and pulled Bilbo onto his lap. "You shouldn't say that, my laddie. Even if it is true."

"He's a fool."

"I won't deny that."

"Aim! I was aiming! He's such a lummox."

Glóin tweaked a curl. "Enough now. You'll make his ears burn!"

Bilbo paused, contemplating Glóin's words. "I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose he does mean well."

"He does," Glóin assured. "Always has. When it comes to teaching people, he's exactly like Balin. He's a perfectionist and would have you keeling over with exhaustion if he had his way."

"Am I right to assume you warned him otherwise?" Bilbo asked.

"You may be. For his protection, of course."

Bilbo snorted and tucked his braid behind his ear. "I doubt I could do any damage to him. He's as tough as stone."

"Did I ever tell you of my first lesson with him?"

Bilbo blinked. "He taught you?!"

"Aye, he did."

"But...I thought he was younger than you!"

Glóin stared at him for several moments. "What?" he finally asked. "Why, he's eleven years older!"

Bilbo looked positively horrified. "He isn't!"

"I promise you, little one, he is." Glóin assured.

Bilbo was quiet, nibbling his bottom lip, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere than with his adad and murmured,"oh dear."

Bilbo seemed so distressed that Glóin put on his least intimidating expression and carefully clasped him closer before requesting why, exactly, Bilbo had thought such a thing?

"It's not my fault." Bilbo sighed. "Having such big beards, particularly yours, makes it so hard to tell ages!"

"Thank you for the compliment." Glóin answered. "So, my beard ages me, does it?"

Bilbo looked stricken and fidgeted slightly. "I do wish you hadn't asked that."

"It's alright to say 'yes'. I told my Da the same thing when our poor uncle, Mahal rest him, was still with us."

Bilbo's gaze was astounded. "You did? Really?"

"I was only seven years of age. It takes time, little laddie, to learn these things."

"So, you're not unhappy with me?"

"Of course not." Glóin promised. "You're hardly the first to make the mistake."

Mahal only knew who the first was. Probably some Elf who barely knew what stubble was.

"I do have the most terrible luck with guessing people's ages." Bilbo sighed. "I insulted one of my uncles horribly when I was younger."

It sounded like a good story and Glóin prompted him to continue. "How did you manage that?"

"Tell me your story and I'll tell you mine." Bilbo offered.

Glóin chuckled. "Aye, that's what I'll do, then."

Bilbo looked elated. Shuffling closer, he looked expectantly up at his adad as the Dwarrow collected his memories and began his tale.

"Mostly, we begin training at twenty years of age, maybe fifteen. Óin was one of those who started younger and as I grew older, I longed more and more to be able to fight like he could.  
When I turned 10, our Da finally had enough of my constant asking. I'll never forget, he took me along to the Training Hall, wished me luck and said he'd be back in a couple of hours." Glóin paused, looking into the sharp green eyes of his intrigued listener. "What my dear adad failed to mention was by 'a few hours', he meant five."

"Five?! That's cruel." Bilbo accused, though he couldn't stop giggling at the thought.

"Might well you laugh. It was painful. When Adad got me home, all bruised and bleeding.."

Bilbo gasped. "Bleeding?! What did he do to you?"

"It wasn't Dwalin's fault." Glóin said. "He was very careful indeed, I just didn't watch myself. He'd rather impale himself than wound his own kin."

Bilbo agreed with this, nodding. "When you got home?"

"Yes, when we returned, Amad..our mother, was livid with our Da. Her bellows echoed through the house."

Bilbo's eyes travelled to Glóin's eyebrow, the one with the split scar running out of it. He didn't say anything, but his own eyebrows knitted together in thought.

"Battle, not practise." Glóin corrected him.

Bilbo jolted. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"Apology accepted, my little pundurith. Will you tell your story?"

"I hoped you'd forget to ask." Bilbo murmured to the amusement of the dwarf. "It was on my uncle Isengar's birthday. I didn't know how old he was and he thought it was just hilarious that his nephew didn't know his age. My mother got annoyed with his teasing and said to me 'How old d'you think he is?' She knew I had difficulties telling ages."

Glóin tried to hide a smile. "I take it you got the wrong age, then?"

"Yes. I said I thought he was sixty years old. He was actually forty-nine..."

"Neither of those ages are old to Dwarrows, but it seems they are to halflings." Glóin voiced.

"Not old, exactly, but hardly the youngest of ages either. My poor uncle. Still, he didn't seem to dislike me for that mistake."

"No, he couldn't begrudge such young kin for that."

"He was my favourite uncle. We rarely saw him, but when we did, he had incredible stories to tell. He saw the Sea once!" Bilbo stopped to smile, though he looked strangely sad. "After my parents died, he was the one who ensured I didn't follow them."

"What about your other family?" Glóin asked, frowning. Surely they didn't leave him alone to grieve?

"My father's side got over my mother's death very quickly and expected me to do the same." Bilbo muttered bitterly. "Her side lived far away and all had their own, large families. Her younger brother, my uncle Isengar, never had children and he stayed with me 'til he felt I could be left alone."

Glóin didn't need to ask why Isengar had felt his sister's son needed a carer. He'd seen Dwalin and Balin after the death of Fundin. Miserable, quiet, haunted, not caring enough to keep themselves alive without the aid of kin.  
Without his uncle around, Glóin doubted Bilbo would be alive this day.

Thank Mahal for Isengar.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are discovered, arguments are had.

"For the love of Mahal and Yavanna both, Nori!"

Bilbo mumbled something that sounded distinctly rude, but Glóin didn't have the energy to tell him off for it. Settling for muttering at him about "watch your language, youngling", he allowed the hobbit to wriggle his way into the warmth of his adad's arms before closing his eyes and trying to regain sleep.

Dori, unfortunately, had other plans. "You dallying with Bofur, have you no sense?"

"Dallying?! How dare you? I would never  _dally_  with Bofur!"

"Like you didn't dally with Cuften back in the Blue Mountains? Or Sefam? Or.."

"Now, look, Dori," Bofur's voice ran over Nori's splutters of protest. "Who knows if we'll come out of this alive?"

"That's just it!" Dori exploded. "If one of you.. If one of you doesn't survive this quest, the other will fade for certain. And I know for a  _fact_  Nori would... do things with anything with a pulse..."

"That is not true!"

"It is!"

"Isn't. I haven't slept with Glóin." Nori pointed out.

Óin was clearly horrified at the very thought. Glóin bristled and hissed at Nori.

"Shut up, you dolt!"

"I haven't slept with  _anyone_  in this  _room_  and the  _one_  time I give into this very fetching Dwarrow, I get hell for it!"

"Couldn't you have said," Balin spoke,"that you hadn't slept with anyone in this room beforehand? I didn't need the thought of you and my youngest cousin canoodling!"

"Besides," Bofur said in his very best come-on-no-more-arguing tones. "He's very sweet. Just like Bifur is to Óin."

Glóin tensed. "What?"

Bofur was silent. Never a good sign.

"Bofur, what did you just say?" Glóin demanded.

There was more quiet, broken by Bifur rather sheepishly grunting out a few words in Khuzdul.

" _What?!_ "

Poor Bilbo was rudely awoken as Glóin lifted him off his chest and dumped him onto the straw.

"Now, see here!" Óin growled. "I'm a grown Dwarf, I can court whomever I choose and I choose him!"

"There's a point!" Dori exclaimed. "Nori, are you even courting Bofur?"

"Oh, it's only a bit of fun, Dori." Bofur defended, not noticing Nori's shifty look at the mention of courting.

"Hmm. Well.." Nori coughed. "It's not an impossibility, you know..."

Bofur's eyes were wide.

"Courting?" Glóin repeated. "COURTING?!"

"He's not that bad!" Óin defended. "He isn't."

"My friends, I am warning you all," Thorin interrupted, sounding tired and weary. "Shut up and go back to sleep.  _Now_."

With a fair few angry looks thrown around, the sounds of dwarves returning to their makeshift beds filled the air.

* * *

Bilbo could feel the dark eyes of his adad boring into the back of his head. He would dearly have loved to simply fake ignorance, but the fact was, despite Nori's finest efforts, he was still no better at lying to people.

"Bilbo."

"Hmm?"

Oh, curse it all. Glóin knew. Of course Glóin knew.

"Did you see  _them_?" Glóin asked.

"Y...Yes."

"Why didn't you say?!"

"It's not my place to say!" Bilbo told him, wordlessly willing his adad to glare less ferociously at him. "It's Óin's to say."

Dark eyes turned more dissatisfied than angered and Bilbo felt a tightening sensation deep in his chest. He'd not meant to disappoint his adad so.

"Am I not to trust you?" Glóin snapped.

Bilbo blinked and gave a short huff of disbelief. "Yes! How could you say that?"

"For a start, you didn't tell about Óin!"

"What d'you even mean by 'for a start'?" Bilbo demanded, not caring for politeness. "I have never given you a reason to distrust me!"

"Well-"

"'Well'?!" Bilbo repeated. "How can you-?" He stopped and inhaled slowly before fixing a sharp look ion the dwarf. "Well, I'm sorry you can't trust me."

With a last withering stare, Bilbo turned from him, leaving nothing but the sound of softly padding feet in his wake.

* * *

The bale sprinkled sprigs of hay to lush, green grass. Bilbo struck it again, slicing the sword through the golden pile of hay.

He could not recall feeling so bitter and angry. Not since the whole misunderstanding his father and he had when Lilac Proudfoot's prizewinning roses had been cut down.

Still, the less said about that, the better.

The poor hay-bale looked tattered. He paused, leaning on the handle of the dagger, surveying the damage he'd managed to cause.

The only damage he'd managed to cause.

It had not been the fault of him that he'd decided to keep quiet about seeing Óin and Bifur getting a bit more than friendly. It was their business. To be frank, Bilbo couldn't think why He Who Would Not Be Named had taken his brother's new relationship so badly.

Didn't everyone like Bifur?

Glóin had known Bifur for nearly the whole of his life. At ten years older, Glóin had thought Bifur the fountain of all knowledge and followed him everywhere up until the age of 28 when Bofur had been born. Then the two of them became friends, discovered Nori and the new trio promptly went around, putting white hairs into Bifur's head.

He just didn't know when Óin had taken such an interest.

Aside from his cousins, Óin was the only part of his family, that he was born into, that he had left. Their amad died when her eldest son was a month away from becoming of age and their adad clung on best he could before succumbing to heartache and dying before Óin could turn 73.

It was after Adad died that Glóin realised just how strong and unyielding his eldest brother was. He grieved, same as Glóin did, but refused to allow him to see, knowing that his nadadith wouldn't be able to cope seeing him in tears. He was just there, all the time. It had been Óin who ensured his sibling didn't do anything illegal or immoral, Óin who taught Glóin the things Gróin hadn't had enough time to teach, it had been Óin who stayed by his side through bad dreams and held him tightly when the pain of losing both parents grew too great.*

Though it was highly foolish, Óin was his brother. He was the only part of their amad's family Glóin had left and one of the few people Glóin allowed himself to depend on.

Bifur could not have him.

* * *

The fact was, Bilbo decided, Glóin would have been furious either way. He clearly hated the thought of Óin courting Bifur, so whether he'd found out earlier or later was of no concern in that regard.

But, really! No trust? Of all reasons to take trust from someone, not telling the business of someone else was the most stupid by far.

Stabbing the bale once more, Bilbo closed his eyes and tried to think of Bungo. What would Papa do?

Well, he would blink his own green eyes, run a hand through his copper curls and the corner of his mouth would go down as he thought it through.  
One thing was for certain, Papa wasn't above running after him on the rare occasions that he stormed off. His papa had ended up taking a six mile stroll with him once.

Would his papa have been angry? Probably not. He might not have been  _overjoyed_  with his son's secrecy, but he would have understood or at least tried to.

As firm as Bungo Baggins could be, he wasn't as stubborn as this. Strife and anger were not things that Bilbo's sire approved of. 'If he was here now, Bilbo thought, I wouldn't be here, I'd be with him and we'd be talking.'

He despaired the stubbornness of Dwarrows!

* * *

" _Nadad_."

"Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend?"

Óin grasped Glóin's shoulder, squeezing tighter than necessary. "Knock it off. I thought you liked Bifur. When you were a lad, I thought it'd be you who'd end up with him!"

This didn't have the desired effect. Glóin glared with all his might at his calm-faced elder brother. "I can't believe you didn't say!"

Óin grimaced. "How could I? Look, it was shortly after we met the Defiler again. It just happened, I saw him differently and I couldn't tell you  _then_ , because your lad was so hurt and you were near out of your mind with fear."

"What about after he woke up?" Glóin demanded.

Óin snorted. "Glóin,  _nadadel_ , there has never been a good time. After he finally awoke, you were anxious and afraid. Even now, I see you looking at him as though you're scared he'll collapse or something of that ilk. I do not intend, nor have I ever intended, to give you cause for concern!"

"Well, this thing between you and him gives me plenty of concern!"

Óin inhaled deeply. "Why?" he asked, certain his intake of fresh air would keep him somewhat sane while he discussed the matter with his brother.

"Because... Well, because.."

But, even though he tried, Glóin couldn't get the right words out. Óin was looking at him with a horribly knowing look and he felt all of thirty years old by the time he finished his stuttered mumblings with an embarrassed: "Because."

" _Nadad_." Óin's voice was in a softer tone, the same one he used to coax Glóin into showing him his scrapes and bumps as a beardling. "How can I sort this if you won't tell me what it is?"

"You're all I have left of  _Amad_  and  _Adad_ ," Glóin quietly confessed after a long silence. "And you've been there constantly since I was born. I'm used to you always being there, and.. It's stupid, really..."

"No. It's not." Óin told him. At Glóin's quizzical look, he gently smiled at him. "Well, not completely stupid."

Glóin sighed. "I know Bifur's a good sort. Mahal made him kindly and patient. Not unlike you."

"But you're worried about it."

"'Tis a dangerous journey we're on. If he were to perish, you would Fade. I remember our  _adad_."

Óin shut his eyes. Remembering their adad wasting away, dying before their eyes was not a fond memory to say the least of it. He shivered and forced himself to look at his younger brother. "Oh, my little star."

It was now a rarely used nickname, only spoken when Óin knew it to be needed.  
In their family, Óin was the only one to refer to Glóin as "little star". Gróin had referred to his youngest son as his "tiny ruby", their amad calling him her "sweetling". Glóin had been seen by Óin for the first time during the night. Gróin's eldest had been unable to bear the suspense and crept from his bed to inspect the tiny creature.

How the name came about, no one rightly knew. Gróin and Fundin vowed it was all the fault of "those sparkly bastards in the sky", but Óin swore it was because Glóin's eyes were so big they reflected light and resembled the stars themselves.

For years, Óin called him his 'little star'. Then Glóin began growing up and it was used less, only to return with a vengeance after the Battle of Moria.  
When the pain of the battle lessened, the name faded away, only being used when comfort was needed or during apologies.

Since Glóin had married Neoma, Óin hadn't called him by his nickname. Hearing his brother murmur the name for the first time in so long made Glóin blink in surprise.

"I will die one day," Óin said, keeping his tone low. "Everyone does at some point. Brother mine, do you not think I had the same fear when you found Neoma?"

"I... No. You never said you did have them."

"No. Because you'd found your One and she made you happy."

"Is he your One?" Glóin asked.

To the redhead's surprise, his elder brother ducked his head as though bashful. It was so reminiscent of how Glóin had been all those years ago that the younger couldn't help smiling at him.

"Well, I never was a one to mess about," the healer muttered. "You know that."

"Aye. I know that." Glóin confirmed.

Óin straightened himself up and looked at his brother. "Are you alright about this now?"

"I am, yes." Glóin answered. "Congratulations to you."

Óin gently tugged a lock of auburn. "Thank you."

"Bilbo saw you, you know." Glóin blurted out. Óin said nothing, but the hand stroking the tendrils of flaming red hair stilled. "Didn't say anything..."

"Probably just how halflings are." Óin said, releasing the fiery lock. "I note he rarely asks anything about relations between all of us."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I doubt he meant badly," Óin told him. "Not all are as open as us, nadadith!"

* * *

WHOOSH!

"Damn-"

WHOOSH!

"The-"

WHOOSH!

"Lot-"

WHOOSH!

"Of-"

WHOOSH!

"Them!"

Muttering angrily as handfuls of straw dropped to the ground, Bilbo sliced at the bale, though it was badly damaged and would likely never be the same again.

"Particularly him."

With that, he again lifted his dagger and plunged it into the midst of his target.

Why did no one ever  _talk_  about problems anymore?

Sitting on the lush grass, he absent-mindedly pulled up a daisy with pink-tinged, white petals and gazed at it crossly as though the tiny flower was to blame.

One of Beorn's giant bees flew near. Over the days, Bilbo had gotten used to the black-and-yellow creatures and stayed still as it buzzed inquisitively by the daisy before flying off again.

_'How can I trust you?'_

By Yavanna. This wasn't doing him any favours.

Bloody Dwarf.

So lost in thought was he that when something touched his tense shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"I am not talking to  _you_!" he declared, quite heatedly, once he saw who it was.

"Bilbo-"

"Don't 'Bilbo' me."

The fingertips resting on his shoulder lifted themselves and leathers creaked before a heavy arm settled itself across his shoulders and tentatively remained there.

"I only stayed quiet because it was not my place to tell others." Bilbo muttered reproachfully. "You would have preferred me sneaking rather than allowing him to decide?"

"I'm sorry. I should never have said that to you."

Bilbo glanced over to the redhead. "Why did you?"

"I'm an idiot sometimes." Glóin said, flitting his eyes to the ground in regret.

"Sometimes?"

"Hey!"

Bilbo couldn't help but smile, despite the hurt that still remained.

"I am sorry,  _pundurith_. It is untrue and shouldn't have been said."

"You do trust me?" Bilbo asked, turning to face him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration on his adad.

"Of course. I do trust you, my lad."

Bilbo gave a slight nod and shuffled closer to Glóin. The arm tightened, and he looked toward the injured hay-bale, the sword sticking out of it like a needle in a pin cushion, feeling quite drained.

Glóin stared.

"Did you do that to the bale?"

"I might have had something to do with it's... current look." Bilbo admitted.

"Oh. You must have been livid." Glóin said, hanging his head so that a curtain of red fell over his shoulders, lightly falling against the curls of coppery-gold.

"I probably overreacted a bit.."

"You did no such thing. I was unfair to you." Glóin lamented. He tried to recall what Gróin did on the occasions  _he_  managed to bugger up. There had been a fair few, and the glimmer of a memory grew, giving Glóin an inspiration of how he could at least attempt to earn his forgiveness.

" _Men lananubukhs menu_ ,  _pundurith_."

As predicted, Bilbo's gaze turned quizzical. "What does that mean?"

"It's Khuz-dûl. Its Westron meaning is a phrase I'm sure you've heard before from your papa and mother."

"'Put the kettle on'?" Bilbo asked seriously, though his eyes twinkled.

Glóin huffed a laugh. "Guess again, my youngling."

"'What's the time?'"

"It's not a request or a question, it's a... It's a loving phrase." Glóin explained.

"'You did well'?"

"No, though I do admire your work with your target," Glóin said, carefully tucking a light-coloured lock of hair behind a pointed ear. "No, 'men lananubukhs menu' translates to 'I love you'. It's a common thing to hear a parent say to their child and its meaning strengthens everytime it is said, whether in our tongue or common tongue."

Large green eyes widened and blinked before their owner turned his head away.

"What is it?" Glóin asked, carefully taking hold of Bilbo's shoulder.

"Nothing. 'Malright." Bilbo told him, though he could feel something hard and painful catch in his throat.

"Tsh. Tell me, Bilbo."

Bilbo's gaze turned to the ground and he shuffled his feet. He bit his lip and cleared his throat before finally deciding to answer.

"Haven't been told that in so long." the hobbit mumbled, the pointed tips of his little ears turning pink. "Um, it was the last words either of them spoke, actually..."

As Bilbo rubbed roughly at his face, Glóin averted his eyes to allow him some privacy, but did take hold of his shaking shoulders if only to remind him that he was still there.  
Bilbo gave a sharp gasp and threw himself at Glóin, clinging tight and burying his face into the thick, red locks that lay across the Dwarf's shoulder.

It really had, Glóin thought to himself as he did his best to comfort the sobbing hobbit, been a very long day.


	26. Cooking Up a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glóin thinks about hobbits and agrees to try his hand at cooking with Bilbo.

Glóin's favourite place in Beorn's Halls was by a small, low window, where he could watch the goings-on outside. Particularly as Bilbo liked the outdoors so much and also liked to stay out 'til the dark hours which Glóin fully disapproved of. Once or twice, Bilbo found him and sat beside him to watch the sunset or sunrise, depending on what the time was.

Mostly, however, he watched alone. Here he was provided with peace until he was called away. For now, he lay against the thick wooden wall and sleepily watched the world. This time he was not alone. This evening, he had his little hobbit, huddled by his side, lost in a deep sleep.

Was love such a rare thing for Bilbo to be told? The lad had somehow discovered a way to make a dwarf love him sincerely, yet he kept looking almost bewildered everytime he was informed.

Maybe male hobbits didn't tell their babes they were loved, though that seemed a stretch.

Hmph. A most mysterious race was the one of halflings, with their strange, curling hair and odd feet and lack of weapons.

Glóin had seen hobbits before, but only the once and he'd been a young beardling at the time and not taken much notice, though he'd wondered at their bald faces.  
Now, he racked his brains, trying to remember the littler people and to think what they'd had in common with his Bilbo.

Curly hair. Large, tough-looking feet with a carpet of hair on each foot. Fond of smoking. Cheery voices.

But they'd looked snooty when they saw the Dwarrows. They refused to speak to them as politely as Bilbo did, adopting cold tones.

He never forgot those people. When Bilbo had been entrusted into his care for the first time, he'd recalled the hobbits he had met and resolved to be no better to the ones he had.

But it had been made clear that Bilbo was different to  _them_  and Glóin could no longer be like he had and then the trouble really started.

Curse his soft heart.

He did love this little creature with his trusting manner, sharp wit (and tongue) and, oddly, the general unDwarvish behaviour of the small hobbit. And he was so small, Glóin could allow himself to fuss a tad without feeling foolish for it.

Mahal only knew what the people back home would think. In either of their homes!

A gentle pull at his beard caught his attention. Though the hobbit had done his best to shake off the habit, he still had his moments of tugging upon it in sleep.  
Looking down, Glóin saw Bilbo's eyes flutter open slowly and quickly uncurl his fist as though to make sure his  _adad_  wouldn't know what he'd done.

"Be careful with your hands, laddie." Glóin told him. "But thank you for not trying to tear it off my face as you did before!"

"I'm sorry," Bilbo replied. "Your beard is easy to get hands lost in."

"So, it's the beard's fault, is it?" Glóin teasingly asked, lightly shifting the hobbit to another arm.

Bilbo laughed. "Now you mention it, you could be right!"

The halfling smiled to himself for a while, and then the little joy disappeared and he began tracing the square pattern of the dwarf's bracer with a small frown on his features.

Glóin carefully tilted up his chin. "What's bothering you?"

"I keep wondering about Lady Neoma," Bilbo admitted. "What will she be to me?"

" _Amad_." Glóin answered. At Bilbo's inquisitive look, he tried to explain better. "' _Amad_ ' means 'mother' in the Dwarven language. A woman who is an  _amad_  is considered one of the biggest blessings her husband can have. She is also seen as a blessing by her children as she is the one who birthed them."

"What about the  _adad_?"

"Aye, he's seen as just as important too. No male can create a babe on his own and no female can create a babe on her own."

"She didn't give birth to me." Bilbo looked doubting. "How can I know she'll accept me as you did?"

"Well, she's certainly no nonsense-taker," Glóin said. "But, despite what  _myths_  you may have heard, I can assure you, Dwarven women are softer and warmer than stone."

"So are the Dwarven men," Bilbo said, the smile returning to his face.

"Why do you think that, little  _pundurith_?"

"I just know." Bilbo said, the cheerful expression remaining on his features. "What is the time, do you know?"

"The sun's going down now, so it's around eight o'clock." Glóin answered. "Are all hobbits as curious about the time as you?"

"Yes, because then we know when the next mealtime is," was Bilbo's solemn reply. "Do you think Beorn will let us borrow his oven?"

* * *

Glóin could remember the first time he'd ever tried his hand at cookery. His  _adad_  (after spending rather a lot of time combing ashy cinders out of his beard) gently informed him that maybe his talents would be better elsewhere.

And, even though he'd followed Gróin's suggestion, Glóin now found himself in an almost comically large kitchen with a colossal wood oven and a selection of massive bowls containing various things such as white flour, blackberries, butter and fine sugar.

"Crumbles are simple to make," Bilbo said, unwittingly giving his adad even less faith in this exercise than before. "You get the flour and the butter and you roll them between your fingers until they look like breadcrumbs."

Glóin was right to doubt. He tried his very best, but his wide, strong fingers seemed unsuited to the act of 'rubbing in' as Bilbo named it. Despite how he butchered his attempts, Bilbo kept telling him how good it was, even though the breadcrumbs resembled dough more than anything.

"You're a sweet little liar," Glóin said at last. "I can cook no more than Dwalin can."

"It takes time to learn the Rubbing In method." Bilbo said in return. "You really aren't doing badly, Adad."

"So you keep saying, and it's kind of you to say, but it's hardly a work of art, is it?"

"Try putting in more flour." Bilbo told him.

If Bifur had been there, Glóin thought, he would have taken to this far more easily, but didn't say so seeing as he did owe his boy for how he'd hurt him earlier. He gently patted Bilbo's hand and requested that the flour be passed his way.  
It soon was and Glóin hoisted it up, tipped the fraying bag and hmphed when it took its time making its escape and then blinked in astonishment when it quite suddenly lurched forward and fell both inside and around it's intended target, coating both hobbit and Dwarf in a fine pale powder and leaving a mist of cloud-like white drifting through the air.

Bilbo was the first to start giggling. Between his amused laughter and coughing from the flour, he tried his best to apologise for laughing only to return to doing so.

"Might well you laugh," Glóin pretended to snap. "You little scoundrel! I suppose you planned this little misadventure, didn't you?"

He knew Bilbo hadn't and grinned as the hobbit refuted the claim by shaking his head so that his now snow-white curls also shook. He was still snickering. "I'm sorry," he eventually gasped out. "Oh, dear, Adad. You look like you've aged a good fifty years!"

"Thank you very much." Glóin replied, reaching to try and tousle the ingredient from Bilbo's hair. "You look similar, my little pundurith."

Holding back the last of his giggles, Bilbo swiped a finger across the table, leaving a strong line of pale brown. "I think you and I invite disaster,I really do. Whatever will Beorn say when he sees?"

"If we're quick and get the flour off everything, I'm sure he won't know." Glóin told him. "Don't use your hands, flour sticks terribly."

Bilbo nodded in agreement. "How did you know that?"

Glóin gave him a slightly knowing look. "You're not the first," he said,"and I suspect you won't be the last to try and get his adad to cook with him!"

* * *

"You've done it," Glóin said, squinting at himself in the long mirror in the washroom. "Young hobbit, you've finally succeeded."

"In what?" Bilbo questioned, settling himself in the tub built into the wooden floor.

"Putting white into my head!"

"Most of it managed to get brushed out," Bilbo pointed out. "It was so funny when the bag got upset, wasn't it?"

"It was. Very funny indeed." Glóin said, allowing a smile at the memory. He couldn't recall seeing Bilbo laugh so hard before.

He was still laughing now, the little sod, and Glóin cupped up some water in his hand and trickled it over the springy curls, hoping to get the flour out of it ere it decided to stay in for several weeks or more. Bilbo splashed him in retaliation.

"Oi! None of that, you little terror."

"You were the one who threw water on my head."

"You make it sound like I've committed a terrible sin. I'm only trying to get the stuff out. It can be a bugger to remove from hair."

"Oh. Well, I am sorry about-"

"No, don't worry about it." Glóin told him. "Do yourself a favour and lay your head back in the water and rub at the your scalp. It helps to get things out of it."

Glóin had been fortunate, if only because he was a dwarf. Dwarves have thicker, tougher hair than most other species and this put a defence up against the flour that had bombarded him. It was the work of minutes to remove it all.

"Oh, I should shave the lot off!" Bilbo muttered as he vigorously attacked his roots.

"Now, you mustn't say that." Glóin said. "It'd be a crime and a shame to remove hair the colour of yours and you'd have nowhere to put your braid."

Bilbo touched the braid and stood. "Has the flour gone?" he asked hopefully.

Glóin pushed back the sodden curls, examining them for any unfamiliarity. "Seems to have left," he reported. "No more threats to hack your hair off! I won't have that."

"Do you ever get annoyed with your hair?" Bilbo asked, looking with mild wonder at the flowing red locks.

"Never so that I wanted the lot of it gone. Óin would kill me if I even  _thought_  it!"

"How long can it get?"

"This is my limit. Any longer and it goes scraggly and needs clipping."

"I thought you never cut your hair."

"Most folks will do if it gets all split ends and Mahal-knows-what. Hair isn't grown long for the mere sake of it."

"Like beards?" Bilbo guessed.

"Exactly." Glóin answered, patting Bilbo's curving braid.

"Ah. I know now why you were so horrified at the thought of me getting this all cut off."

"Good," Glóin praised. "Let's hear no more of it, laddie."

Time passed and soon Glóin had Bilbo wrapped in a comically large towel while he redid the braid which had recently loosened.

"Adad?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you say you'd be my guardian?"

"I didn't." Glóin admitted, handing Bilbo his breeches. "They thought with my being a da that I would know how to deal with anything that came up."

Half-dressed, Bilbo glanced at Glóin, accepting his shirt as it was passed. "What did you think?"

"I thought it would be a hellish experience." Glóin confessed after a short while. "I am sorry, I should never have thought that of it, Bilbo."

"The same thought went through my mind." Bilbo shyly revealed. "I thought you were terrifying!"

"And I thought you were a little troublemaker. Half right, it seems."

"I believe you all take delight in the fact there's someone littler than you." Bilbo accused quite seriously, though his eyes twinkled.

"It's rare to find someone smaller than a dwarf." Glóin reminded him. "Dwalin reckons you make him feel a giant!"

"How d'you suppose Beorn feels?" Bilbo pointed out. "He's taller than Gandalf even!"

"There's a point." Glóin agreed. "Come on, let's find Óin to finish the braid."


	27. Last Practise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin remains positive. Bilbo chats with Óri and finds that he may have been committing a taboo in Dwarven culture.

Alright, we have two days, counting today, to sort this out." Dwalin said, grasping the hilt of his sword tightly. "And we are going to sort it out today."

"Don't get your hopes up." Bilbo murmured.

Dwalin tsked. "No, I won't have that. If Balin can, you can."

There was a distinctly mischievous grin on the warrior's face and Bilbo couldn't help smiling too.

"He'd love to hear that."

"But he won't, because our hobbit surely won't tell him, will he?"

Bilbo chuckled and shook his head. Dwalin ruffled his hair and stood back, placing himself into what Bilbo called his 'fighting position'. He copied him, earning a mutter of approval and held his sword tightly in his fist.

"Good," Dwalin rumbled.

Without warning, his sword sliced through the air, forcing Bilbo to raise his own weapon. The blades clashed and the sun's light bounced off them, making Bilbo wince and Dwalin barked at him to open his eyes.

Swing. CLASH!  
Swing. CLASH!  
Swing. CLASH!

The sounds of clashing metals sung in the morning air as a rhythm grew and Bilbo's mind wandered.

Dwalin stopped.

"You're daydreaming," the warrior accused with a glare. "You'll die where you stand if you daydream in a real battle."

"All we're doing is clashing swords." Bilbo pointed out.

"Better to have your sword struck by another blade, instead of your skin being struck." Dwalin said. "Come now, pick up your sword again."

He did, though he privately thought he was the worst fighter to disgrace Arda's lands. But Dwalin didn't need to know his thoughts. Dwalin wasted no time, getting stuck back into the fight. He was a fierce fighter indeed, and Bilbo couldn't stop himself ducking a few times.

"No, laddie, stay  _up_. It's very easy to cut off someone's head when they do that." Dwalin told him.

So he tried to. He did try.

But then his own swipes kept getting blocked and Dwalin would stop and advise, stop and advise, over and over again until Bilbo was about ready to plunge the Elven dagger into the earth.

Dwalin, being the optimist he was, swore he'd have him perfect by the end of the day. There was a slightly frenzied glint in his dark eyes that Bilbo didn't like.

They kept at it 'til the sun reached the middle of the sky and Balin was sent to fetch them for lunch.

"Alright. Well..." Dwalin paused. "You've improved since last time, laddie. We'll need to continue when we can as we journey on, mind."

* * *

As they trooped inside, Bilbo bit his lip. He'd tried his hardest, but just wasn't able to do everything that was needed. The fact that he'd missed his chance in getting better at swordfighting made him duck his head.

He wasn't a fighter. He never had been.

Dwalin gave him a rather strained smile before going off elsewhere.

Bilbo stopped by the door, leaning upon it and sighed heavily. "Why ever did I agree to practising swordplay?"

"How are we supposed to know?"

"Adad was right," Bilbo said, having turned to see who answered his question. "You really do have a terrible habit of eavesdropping!"

"And you have a terrible habit of not looking 'round your environment." Óin retorted.

"Mine's a politer habit."

Bifur looked up from his carving to grin.

"So, what's bothering you with your swordfighting?" Óin questioned.

"I'm just not doing well."

"Are you not?"

Óin was wearing the exact same expression that his brother sometimes wore. Bilbo blinked at him.

"What is it?"

"My cousin thinks you're doing well. He's said so on more than one occasion."

"But... It doesn't  _feel_  good enough."

"It can take  _years_  to perfect the art.  _Decades_ , even! Dwalin's not the type to lie about progress and he has said that you're doing well."

"He has? Are you sure?"

Óin's expression was vaguely amused. "Aye, I'm sure. So take that miserable look off your face, laddie."

He lightly grasped his shoulder and grunted in surprise as Bilbo threw his arms around him and rested his head on the healer's shoulder. Patting Bilbo's back, Óin gave Bifur a sideways look to request the hobbit was stopped from continuing his death-grip. Bifur looked at him serenely with his rather fetching deep silver eyes and joined the hug.

Óin glared at the unresponsive mop of black-and-white hair.

He really was surrounded by idiots.

* * *

"It'll be just fine," Dwalin said firmly, his arm around Bilbo in a vice-grip. "Erebor! By Erebor, you'll be as good as your da, I promise you."

"Thank you."

"Actually, there's a thought.  _We_  won't need to defend ourselves, we'll just have you do it!" Dwalin cackled rather madly to himself. "Where was I? Oh, yes. You'll be just fine, laddie. I hope."

Dwalin lifted his arm from their perch and stood. "I," he said, "have to go now. We'll see if a certain  _someone_  will get up and practise like he's supposed to."

"Thorin?"

"Aye, Thorin. See you later on, lad."

* * *

"Last comfortable sleep tonight." Óin remarked. "At least we'll have a bedroll."

'And a nice sleeping-partner.' Bifur signed, grinning manically.

"I saw that!" Glóin said sharply. "Mahal, when I think back to the time when my nadad, here, nearly pulled my ear off my head for winking at Neoma..."

"One should never wink at a lady." Dori told him.

"So, no one's allowed to wink at you, I take it?" Glóin asked, quite unable to stop himself.

Nori tutted. "I'll thank you not to talk to my sister like that."

The uproarious laughter thundered through the Halls of Beorn. Óri rolled his dark-blue eyes and closed his notebook.

"You promised to be quiet this morning!" he accused.

"That is true, you know." Bombur said. "We did promise we'd shut up this morning."

To which Dwalin replied, "it's not morning anymore, though!"

When the ruckus began again, Óri looked as though he'd like to stick his quills into Dwalin's eyes.

"I'm going to find somewhere peaceful. I'll never get anything done with you."

As Óri padded off, Dori gave Glóin a very reproachful look.

"What?"

"Can't you sort your cousin out? Óri was only-"

"Sort him out?! Dwalin's the one who does that. By heck, he'd have my hide if I even thought of it!"

"He wouldn't!"

"Oh, he would. Beneath the rock-hard exterior exists a diamond-hard exterior."

"Interior, cousin." Dwalin corrected.

"How would you know?" Balin asked.

"What d'you mean? I can't know long words?"

"Well, it's the first I've heard of it..."

Bilbo could sense a row coming. "Adad. I'm going to find Óri, see you later."

"Back within the hour, my pundurith." Glóin said, patting his shoulder. "Early rising tomorrow."

As Bilbo followed Óri's footsteps, he distinctly heard Dwalin shout, "of course I know how to read!"

* * *

Óri nearly jumped out of his skin when an unexpected presence asked:

"What have you done so far?"

"Bilbo! You startled me." Óri scolded, clutching his notebook to his chest.

"Sorry. They're all arguing, so I escaped."

"Ah. Will you sit down?"

He did so, and Óri flipped his book back to the first page.

"D'you want to read it?" Óri offered shyly, a pink blush creeping over his cheeks. The yellow light of his lantern highlighted the finer hairs scattered over his face, hinting the large beard that would come in later years.

"I would, please."

Óri had beautiful handwriting. Small, surprisingly thin and delicate, the style was intricate and careful.

"The people in the Shire are very odd- Óri!" Bilbo stared at the sheepishly-grinning Dwarf. "We're not odd, you're odd!"

"Well, from a Dwarf's point of view, you are very strange people."

"How?"

"All the lasses wear short dresses."

"They don't. The gowns come to their calves or even their ankles."

"Dwarrowdams wear much longer dresses. That's when they're not travelling, of course."

Bilbo nodded. "My mama stole a pair of her brother's breeches when she went travelling the first time."

"Stole them? Dwarrowdams just have them. Sometimes they'll wear them when they're not travelling, you see."

"She went on her own when she was very young. Her mother didn't really like it, so she went in secret. Sometimes," Bilbo lowered his voice to a whisper, "she wore them when Papa wasn't around. She had memories of her adventures in them."

"Why don't the lasses wear trousers too?" Óri whispered back.

"It's just not heard of. Mama was the only woman to wear them I think."

"That is strange," Óri said in slight awe. Then he shook his head. "Sorry, that's rude. Just, to me it is."

"We both seem strange to each other, I suppose." Bilbo said, looking back at the page. "We have a hobbit to do our burgling. He's only 39 and signed the contract before telling us his age! My eldest brother is horrified."

Óri shuffled. "It's supposed to be a truthful account," he said.  
"So, in years from now people will be reading about the underage, thieving hobbit?" Bilbo asked teasingly. "Um...'Everyone's arguing again. Hobbit needs a guardian or we're all going to panic even more than we already are over everything.

"Shomakhâl Glóin has a nice ring to it." says Dwalin...' Óri, what's a 'Shomakhâl?"

"A guardian. That's what Mister Glóin is to you."

"Oh! 'Glóin thinks Nori might be better suited. Nori disagrees, along with everyone else present.

"I don't know about hobbits." Glóin's says

"You have a son." Nori says

"Guarding and parenting are two different things." Glóin says.

"You'll have a lackey, it'll suit you," Nori says.

"Don't be stupid! Being a guardian is about caring for the person under your guardianship. You can't make 'em into your lackey just because they're under your care." Glóin says.

"So, it is the same as parenting." Dwalin says.

"No! Well... Maybe a tad, yes."

Fíli and Kíli who have been petitioning to be joint guardians look most disappointed as our King and Leader decides Glóin to be the Shomakhâl.' Did Fíli and Kíli really ask?"

"They did. Kíli was very upset with Thorin, you know."

"Oh, dear. 'Our burglar looks nervous as he joins us. When Glóin is announced, he looks even moreso.' I didn't dislike him! I just.. D'you think he noticed?"

"He's used to it, I think." Óri said carefully.

"I feel terrible. In my defence, even if you had been made guardian, I think I would have been more nervous."

Óri giggled. "He didn't mind, you know. If a dwarf can look intimidating, he's happy."

"I know him too well now." Bilbo said. "Is it bad I don't fear him?"

"No. You're not supposed to be afraid of your adad." Óri said. "It's very good, I'm sure he's thrilled with it."

Bilbo beamed at him and flicked through the crinkled pages, pausing to admire the detailed illustrations sprinkled through the heavy book. "I wish I could draw like you," he murmured. "These are wonderful, Óri."

"Really?" Óri asked, looking pleased. "Thank you!"

"I like your picture of Kíli sleeping. He'll love that."

Óri chuckled. "I'd better hide it, I think. I can't imagine he'd be too happy."

Bilbo laughed with him, turning the pages again. "No, perhaps not. What's this..? Oh, Óri! You drew me and Adad?"

"It was captivating," Óri said. "I drew it from memory."

"I'd almost forgotten the cold of those Mountains." Bilbo told him. "It got so cold I'd end up curling up as close as I could to him."

"You still do now," Óri pointed out mildly, attempting to smooth down a rumple in the page.

"I do." Bilbo said. "Is that odd as well?"

"A bit," Óri answered carefully."It's not very Dwarvish, you see."

"Surely you hug your children?"

"Of course," Óri agreed. "But beardlings have their brothers or sisters to cuddle with at night. Not parents."

"What if you don't have brothers or sisters?"

"Then you do." Óri answered. "Children grow out of it quickly, though. Usually by fifty, they don't do it anymore."

"Oh." Bilbo felt deflated. What must his adad have thought all those nights? He didn't have the cold to blame for snuggling into his adad every night, not anymore.

"Oh, it's not a bad thing!" Ori hastened to say, once he saw how worried Bilbo looked. "Don't be unhappy, he doesn't mind, you know. Nobody does."

"But if it's not very Dwarven-"

"He doesn't mind." Óri repeated stubbornly. "I'm sorry, I didn't have said. I, of all people, should know that having kin close by helps you feel better."

Bilbo nodded. "I know what you mean. I just feel safer beside him, you know."

"It's easy to forget the bad things in such a good place. Even if it is on the doorstep of Mirkwood."

"Oh, Óri, not you too!"

Óri grinned. "Alright," he said, holding his hands up. "No arguing about Elves tonight. Will you read on?"

It wasn't until quite a while later that Bilbo realised they had been away from the group for a great deal longer than the promised hour.

* * *

Black eyes were crinkled, but not in laughter. No, Adad wasn't pleased.

"I'm sorry for being late."

"One hour, I told you! We have to go early tomorrow."

Bilbo stared at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Look at me, laddie." Glóin quietly requested. "You must do as is asked of you. I didn't ask you to return sooner because I could. I asked because we're going early tomorrow and you need to be fully rested."

"I know and I am sorry. I lost track of time." Bilbo guiltily explained.

"I see. Well, thank you for being truthful." Glóin said. "I appreciate your honesty, little pundurith."

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"Of course it does!" Glóin answered, moving a curl away from Bilbo's forehead. "Come now, don't look so anxious." Carefully grasping Bilbo's wrist, he guided him toward the straw. "But, you need to rest  _now_ , little one."

"So do you." Óin mumbled from his side.

"Why aren't you sleeping, you sneaky old goat?" Glóin asked.

"That is a  _fine_  way to talk to your older brother, a fine way indeed!" Óin chided, opening an eye to glare at his sibling. "If you have to know, it's a habit to stay up waiting up to be sure you're in bed. It's left over from the days you used to climb out the window and..."

"Shh!" Glóin warned, glancing at Bilbo.

Too late.

"You used to climb out of the window?" Bilbo asked, beginning to smile. "Adad, why?"

"Go to bed, get to sleep," Glóin instructed. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

Still smiling, Bilbo did, only this time, he kept his distance from his  _adad_.

* * *

Something was not right. Normally, Bilbo cuddled next to him, safely in his arms where Glóin could know he was well and breathing.

Why was he keeping away tonight?

_And_  he wasn't sleeping.

No, he was tightly curled up, looking cold and lonely and his breathing was too shallow for him to be asleep.

It was getting later by the minute. Glóin, like Óin did for him, refused to sleep unless certain the ones under his care were. This insomnia wouldn't do.

Sitting up, Glóin leant over and easily lifted the hobbit from where he lay and placed him on his lap. Bilbo mumbled something and turned tired green eyes on him. He was clearly exhausted, but just refused to sleep, from the seem of things.

"Now, what is it?" Glóin whispered, gently taking one of Bilbo's small hands in his bigger ones. "What's wrong?"

Bilbo shifted about, unwilling to meet his  _adad's_  eyes. "Just...um..."

"You can tell me anything," Glóin reminded him. "Anything at all."

"Well, I realised that being clung to in the night.. That's it's not very, um, good for... That it might be irritating."

"Irritating?" Glóin repeated, staring at him as though he'd grown an extra head. "Why would you think such a thing?"

"I just.. I'd be irritated if I had someone clinging to me all night."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not you, then." Glóin retorted. "What was it you said parents do for their children?"

"They protect them."

"And?"

"Care for them."

"There you are then. It helps you feel safe enough to sleep at night, lad. Of course I don't mind."

"You wouldn't lie, would you?"

"Only on special occasions."

In his tired state, Bilbo discovered the energy to huff a laugh.

"Are you willing to sleep now?"

Bilbo gave a small nod. Carefully, Glóin slid him back onto the straw and lay down, gently pulling Bilbo back into his arms. The halfling snuggled closer, and fell asleep almost instantly. Glóin watched him for a little while and eventually his own eyes closed and he slept, dreaming of twisted, black trees and eerie, beautiful singing.


	28. Aches and Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ponies are temporarily gifted to the Company. Kíli and Bilbo swap pipeweed only to suffer for it and Dwalin shares a memory.

"Do we really have to go on those things?" Bilbo asked, gazing up at the cream pony.

"Yes, they will get us to the Elvengate sooner," Gandalf said swinging himself up onto his own pony.

"There's a lot to be said for walking." Bilbo stated.

"Not enough to be said, my lad. Are you alright getting up there by yourself?" Glóin asked.

"I... I think so, yes. Thank you."

After several failed attempts to scramble up onto the pony, Glóin left his and gave his hobbit-son a lift to reach his saddle. Even when safely settled, Bilbo looked anything but happy at where he was.

"Thanks, Adad."

"No bother," Glóin assured, climbing onto his own beast.

"Are we all together?" Gandalf asked. "Let's see... Thorin's by me.. Dwalin's there with Balin, Fíli and Kíli are beside Óri who's in front of Dori, Nori's with Bofur behind him-"

Dori turned to pin a sharp look upon his brother. Nori grinned ruefully.

"Óin and Bifur are to the left of Dori, Glóin and Bilbo are behind them.. And there's Bombur to their right. Very good. Shall we go on?"

"You should," rasped the familiar voice of Beorn. "Last night, one of my animals told me that he heard there were Orcs, perhaps two days from here. You had best go now before they catch up to you."

"Thank you, Master Beorn," Gandalf replied, patting the neck of his pony. "Farewell to you."

"Good luck in your journey," rumbled the Skinchanger.

As the ponies followed each other on the thin track leading away from Beorn's Halls, Bilbo glanced back, wondering if the Orcs really were as close as they seemed to be.

* * *

As the day wore on, Bilbo grew bored. He and Glóin were bunched together in a small group consisting of Bifur, Óin, Nori and Bofur, who were chatting together in the ancient Dwarven language.

"Adad?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you tell me the story?"

"What story?" Glóin asked.

"With you climbing out the windows..?"

There was a mixed chorus of sighs, shouts and laughter.

"I feckin' hate this story." Óin declared, shaking his head.

Bifur snatched his ear trumpet and safely stowed it away inside his coat. Óin grumbled to himself and focused on the road ahead.

"Well," said Bofur as though he was the one asked. "Your old man here hasn't always been a good lad. I mean, he was better than us-" he gestured to himself and Nori, "but he had himself a wild streak."

Ah. So Bofur was telling that story.

"Do you mind if I tell the story now?" Glóin growled, glaring at Bofur with all his might.

"No, you go ahead."

"When I was in my seventies, about seventy eight, seventy nine..."

"You were 77." Bofur said.

"Oh, yes, 77. Well, I'd known Neoma for a good three years. We'd met a few times and all that. Now, I don't know quite how this happened-"

"You know very well how it happened, you sappy old codger." Nori interrupted. "You realised you liked her and decided you had to get in."

"I was.. I was 77! Nobody makes the best decisions of their lives at 77. Anyway, I'd climb out the window to meet up with her. I just had to see her."

"Did you know she was your," Bilbo paused, trying to remember the name. "Your.. One at the time?"

"Aye, laddie. I knew it for certain after we got caught."

"This is my favourite part," Bofur grinned, moving his pony closer.

"She was learning how to be a jeweller. That's her main trade. So we'd go to the forges and talk until the later hours. One night her teacher came back, must have forgotten something and caught us-"

"Kissing," Nori mouthed, beaming unapologetically as Glóin glowered at him.

"Our very first time. It was highly improper because I hadn't asked her to court me. Yet."

"Tell us of when the blacksmith caught you!" Bofur demanded.

"At that point, I decided it was a good time to return home. Neoma thought the same and we split ways. When I got home, I didn't fancy clambering up the wall-"

Bifur snorted.

"-So I thumped on the door and eventually somebody opened it. Then, it turned out that my brother had our cousins over, as he'd discovered I wasn't in bed."

Bofur and Nori hollered with laughter. Bifur could be heard cackling and Bilbo stared at his adad in shock.

What did he say?"

"They said a lot. Livid, they were, though Dwalin softened when he realised I'd met a lady."

"What about Óin?"

"He muttered a lot, clumped me over the head and we made up before morning." Glóin paused. "Though he did insist that I stop climbing out the window."

"I climbed into your bedroom once." Nori reminisced. "Thought it'd be funny to scare him," he explained to Bilbo. "He got such a shock, he gave me a black eye."

"Never sneak up on Glóin is the moral of that story," Bofur summarized for Bilbo.

"I already knew that!"

"And never climb out the window, unless you want a sore head." Nori added.

"Not even then!" Glóin said. "I'll not have any of my children climbing out a window!"

"I daresay your adad thought the exact same thing." Bilbo mused.

Glóin chuckled. "I don't doubt he did. I don't think he could have been any crosser than Óin was that night, though."

"In fairness to him, I'd have been annoyed, finding my little brother had climbed out the window," Bofur said.

"That's because," said Nori,"'e would bring the house down if 'e tried to climb out the window.."

"Take that back," Bofur threatened, "else I'll never again do that thing you like."

"What th-?" Bilbo tried to ask, but was cut off by his adad quickly shushing him.

"Let's go and see Balin, lad." Glóin suggested, glaring daggers at his now rather sheepish-looking friends. "Ere you find out something you shouldn't!"

* * *

It felt strange to be setting up camp again after so many days in Beorn's lodging. The Skinchanger had been kind enough to lend them waterskins and makeshift packs filled with rations as well as medicinal herbs that could come in useful in the forest.

"Fíli lad, let me fix your braids." Thorin called, beckoning his nephew over.

Fíli gently tugged one of Kíli's dark locks and went over. Kíli frowned at the ponies he and his brother had been sorting out and looked around, biting his lip. His eyes lit up suddenly, and he called to Bilbo.

"Help me sort the ponies out?"

* * *

The ponies were wonderful creatures, their velvety noses barely touching their hands as they golloped their carrots up. They seemed to know they weren't to leave their current owners and lay down, allowing the dwarf and hobbit to stroke them. One of them snorted as the two got their pipes out, but otherwise they were quiet and peaceful.

"We'd better stay with them for a bit." Bilbo said.

"Mm. That stuff is so mild, I don't know how you can smoke it," Kíli declared, watching Bilbo retry making smoke-rings with ill-concealed wonder.

"It's nice. You should try some." Bilbo said, offering him his tobacco pouch.

"If I try yours, you must try mine." Kíli said, eyeing the pouch with suspicion.

"I will, then." Bilbo said, handing his pouch over.

How bad could Dwarven pipe-weed be?

Kíli patted his pinch of Old Toby down and offered Bilbo a light before lighting his own.

It was when the Dwarf had his soft, pink lips around the stem that a sudden, rather wicked idea entered Bilbo's curly head.

"Wait! You have to take in a great deep breath when you first smoke it."

Old Toby makes the smoker cough like mad if they were to smoke it like that, Bilbo knew. He took a puff of the strange tobacco given to him nose wrinkling at the awful taste and blew it out quickly. At first he felt nothing. Then, without warning, he felt a deep, tickly sensation running through his lungs.

Then the coughing started. Not the controllable, rapid coughing of Old Toby, but a desperate, suffocating cough that had him bent double.

Kíli was most anxious. "Bilbo? Bil- Ahem! Are you-?"

Then he started coughing too.

* * *

"Idiots, the pair of you!"

Bilbo would have defended himself and Kíli from this accusation, but his poor throat was too sore to argue with the healer.

"We've all done it," Bofur said.

"Yes, but hobbit lungs are weaker than... don't speak!"

Bilbo settled for glaring at him instead.

"Don't scowl at me, laddie." Óin chided.

"I should've known," Kíli hoarsely stated. "Will he ever be able to speak again?"

"Yes, if he rests his voice and drinks this tea he'll be back to normal in a day or two." Óin assured them.

Bilbo looked at the tea, brewing away in the small pot and shuddered. Óin made the worst-tasting medicines Bilbo had ever drunk. Carefully, he moved away once the healer's back was turned...only to get captured by his adad and sat down.

"I know it's not the nicest, but it'll help your throat out." Glóin told him.

The herbal tea didn't taste too badly. Its taste had a bitter hint of sharp lemons, but this didn't stop Bilbo shuddering after he'd downed the scalding liquid as fast as he was able.

"Good lad. Come on, let's find the branches."

* * *

The two youngest of the Company were in rather sorry spirits that evening. Kíli kept clearing his throat and rubbing his neck. Fíli tried to help him by thumping his back, but the leftover tickles persisted and Kíli was left looking like a puppy who had eaten something he shouldn't and was now suffering for it.

Bilbo's throat, on the other hand, was just sore. It felt like it was splitting open on the inside and swallowing was now a nightmare as it hurt even more when the action was made. He, too, rubbed his neck and also had a companion in the form of Glóin, who didn't wallop his back as Fíli did for Kíli, but instead rubbed his back whenever he winced.

"See, this is what happens when you try out things you're not used to." Dwalin said.

"It never did me any harm." Glóin said unthinkingly. Suddenly aware of the twelve gazes upon him, thirteen if the Wizard was included, he shook his head and focused more on his little hobbit.

"Stew's done," Bombur called, hoping to relieve the mild tension that had fallen upon the group. "Get it while it's hot!"

Murmurs of approval met this announcement. Dwarves stood to collect a bowl and spoon. Bilbo looked over at Glóin, trying to decipher why everyone had gone silent earlier, but the dwarf revealed nothing, simply pulling him to his feet and telling him to get his dinner while he could.

* * *

Dinner was not a fun affair for Bilbo, nor Kíli. Kíli kept coughing and the stew, though it was utterly delicious, was torture going down. In the end, both set aside their bowls, giving them unhappy looks as they did so.

"This is the worst!"

"It'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Why did I think swapping pipe-weed would be harmless?" Kíli lamented.

Bilbo gave him a poke and a fierce look.

"Well, yeah, but Dwarven stuff is stronger, and-"

"- didn't tell-" Bilbo managed to wheeze out.

"Hush!" Óin growled. "You'll damage your voice."

Bilbo settled for glaring at Kíli instead.

"Sorry, I didn't think it'd do that much." Kíli explained. "I really didn't mean for-" he gestured to him.

Bilbo shrugged, trying to tell Kíli not to worry about it. Óin shook his head at the both of them and began rooting through his satchel. He sat up holding a little pot.

Both hobbit and Dwarf shrank away.

"No," Kíli said decisively. "We don't want any more medicine. It's disgusting, Óin."

"Oh, I think you'll like this." Óin said and he showed Kíli the pot.

Kíli's deep brown eyes sparkled. "Is that honey?!"

"Raw honey, but it'll be as nice. It soothes the throat, you see. Get a spoonful of it down you."

As the two did as requested, Dwalin started chuckling. Óin glared at him.

"It's not funny, Dwalin."

"What?" Kíli asked, now licking the spoon as if trying to get any last traces of the delicious food.

"He played a horrible trick on him," Óin pointed at Glóin, "when he was younger."

"Tell!" Kíli pleaded. "I haven't heard this one."

"He was a little scoundrel when he was younger. Well, he dared my nadad to eat a whole jar of honey. Wasn't a big jar and it was getting empty anyway, but he didn't half suffer for it."

"Did your adad get angry?" Kíli asked, his eyes wide.

"I'll get to that. I was awoken at midnight. He woke up, feeling terrible and decided the best thing to do was climb into bed with me and tell me what the matter was." Óin paused, giving Dwalin a baleful look. "Anyone who's ever had an ill little brother clinging to him can appreciate my situation. Eventually I got the truth out of him and called for Amad to come and get him.

"What happened?" Adad asked, having followed Amad.

"Dare games got out of hand," I said.

He groaned. "Never have children, Óin."

"Don't you like yours?" I asked.

He grumbled and walked back to his own room and that was the last I saw of him that night."

Kíli cackled joyously. "That's brilliant."

"We never had to threaten him with a hiding again. Any time he misbehaved or looked like he was about to, we simply said one word." Dwalin stated. "Honey."

Kíli nearly choked on his spoon in his fit of laughter.

"Might well you laugh!" Glóin told him. "Over a century later and I still can't have honey."

"And it was terrible of you, Dwalin!" Óin scolded. "He's such a melodramatic, whiny little sod when he's ill..."

"I am not!"

"You are! A fraction better than Dwalin, perhaps."

Dwalin sputtered indignantly as Glóin smiled cheerfully at Óin's amendment. Balin smiled softly and shook his head at the three of them.

Kíli, who was now considering the fact his spoon could now be honeyless, grinned.

"That's a brilliant prank, though! I must try it."

"You already did a similar one," Dwalin said, pointing at Bilbo who was also trying to pretend his spoon would never run out of honey. "Thanks to you, my cousin will never need to wallop him, he'll simply have to whisper, 'Dwarven Pipeweed' and that'll end any mischief!"

"You never actually made him eat it, did you?" Kíli asked, giving Dwalin a sorrowful look as though he thought he had.

"How cruel do you think I am? Of course not!" Dwalin answered. "It was tempting at times, mind..."

"I wouldn't have let him," Óin interrupted. "However tempting it was!"


	29. Forest of Silken Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company arrive at Mirkwood. Gandalf leaves and Bilbo learns about Dwarven weaponry.

"This forest is _sick_."

Glóin agreed whole-heartedly as he rode aside his hobbit-son. The dark branches bore leaves, but they were small and shrivelled, waving in the wind and looking generally miserable. 

"Is there no way around?"

"Not unless you ride two hundred miles north," the Wizard rumbled, sliding off his horse and onto the waning grass below, "or twice that distance.. south."

As Gandalf made his way through the Elvengate, Bilbo hmphed. "I wouldn't be adverse to it." he said. "To think I thought you were exaggerating the place!"

"Well, now you know." Glóin told him, removing himself from his own steed. "Come on down, lad."

Doing so, Bilbo gave the forest another look. "Adad, are there _really_ Elves in there? I can't imagine any wishing to live _here_."

"I don't know the reasoning of the Elves. Let's just hope we don't meet 'em."

"How long should we be going through?"

"Weeks, maybe." Dwalin answered nearby. "Don't worry about it. Sooner we go in, sooner we go out."

Looking back at the hostile woodland, Glóin couldn't say he disagreed.

* * *

 

Hm. Well. This had not been the plan, but at least they were still on the path.  At least, Bilbo thought they were. They were following Thorin after all. 

He just wished they had the Wizard with them. This whole venture had been the Wizard's idea in the first place, though, as Bilbo looked at the hand encasing his, he couldn't deny that he was rather glad this bunch of dwarves had crashed into his life.

Shards of sunlight stabbed through the leaves above, but they left only a dim glow and that glow was becoming even less visible as the day wore on. And he had been right. This forest was _undoubtedly_ ill. The air was not misty, but it was thick and breathing it in brought a dizzying sensation in their skulls and there were murmured complaints of headaches and swimming visions.   
The ground was moist, the trees were twisted and pained, bearing a strange, soft and pale, stringy coating, and Bilbo just _knew_ there was something watching them through the trees.

It had only been a number of hours and he already hated the bloody forest.

It was cold, too.

"We shall stop now." Thorin called out, many hours later. "Óin,  Glóin, the fire. We shan't need to scout. Nothing evil shall come on this path out of the forest- so Gandalf said." There was a bitter doubt in the prince's voice and none could blame him. The Wizard's loss was a sore one. "We need to eat, then rest. Who has one of the provision packs?"

"I do."

"Give it to Bombur, Fíli."

The evening was eventless Nobody talked or told a tale that night. Mirkwood had taken its toll- and Bilbo just hoped it wouldn't get worse.  

* * *

 He fell asleep sandwiched between Óin and Glóin, but awoke to a sharp feeling of dread. He had barely time to register anything when he suddenly saw a number of pale, nearly transparent eyes staring at him. They were white, but not blind and, acting on instinct, he grabbed the nearest thing to him in order to hurl it at the thing. Something heavy tugged at his arm and he looked down to see that he was not holding the hilt of his dagger, but had managed to shift his adad's ax a bit away from him.

Looking back up, he was relieved and frightened to note that the eyes had now disappeared.

Slowly, he lay back down and curled up as closely as he could to Glóin. Arms wrapped around him automatically and he felt immediately safer as he was brought closer to his dwarf-father. Glóin was comforting and warm, his beard was soft and he really did give the best cuddles Bilbo had ever had.

It didn't take long to fall asleep again. 

* * *

Mahal only knew what time it was when he awoke, but Gimli had made it so that his father awoke at roughly dawn everyday. Glóin stifled a yawn and blearily felt for his ax.

Strange.

He carefully released Bilbo and sat up, looking for it, spotting it within seconds. It had been dragged during the night and he picked it up, running his eyes along it to look for any scratches, or Mahal forbid, notches, but swiftly realised that there had been no such casualties.

Who'd tried to grab it?

"Adad?"

Surely not...

"Lad, did you try and pick up my ax?"

Bilbo awoke more at that and gave a guilty nod.  Glóin placed his ax back down and beckoned Bilbo over. Bilbo looked worried, but did as asked, looking uncertain about the outcome of his admission.

"Was there a reason?"

"I saw something. I saw...eyes."

"Eyes?" Glóin repeated. "What kind of eyes, pundurith?"

Relaxing at the special name, Bilbo began telling him about the pale eyes he'd seen, how they were colourless and clear, but could see and how he could have sworn they were looking at them all. "Like an insect, Adad. I wanted to throw something at them and just snatched at whatever I could reach."

"Well, I can't fault you for wanting to protect yourself." Glóin said, patting his shoulder. "But you must keep your own within reach, laddie. Here."  Glóin lifted the ax and brought it closer, placing the hilt in Bilbo's hands. "Try and lift her. See how heavy she is."

Bilbo thought it would be simple, given how he'd managed to drag it last night. But he couldn't lift it off the ground. Midway, it refused to go any higher and he gave up with a quiet pant. "She's very heavy."

"Indeed. And she's got a sharp blade that you could cut yourself to pieces on."  Glóin said. "They're not as easy to wield as you'd think, Bilbo. They can slide in your grip and take your head off."

Bilbo glanced down at the ax which lay innocently on the ground. Dwalin had told him that the gaps in it actually made it _lighter_ and he found the idea of a dwarf being able to carry a heavier version unfathomable. As for taking off body parts... Well, he certainly never doubted that. "I-I won't do it again." he mumbled, feeling sparks of warmth jolt through his body. He'd not thought about how dangerous the act had been.

"So I should hope. Come here, you're shivering."

He was, partly with cold, partly with fear, and he went willingly into the comforting warmth of his adad's arms. Cocooned safely in those brawny arms, he lay his head on his adad's chest, listening to the beat of his heart. "I don't believe Dori could carry the ax around all day."

"It doesn't seem that heavy to me. Though, when I found it for the first time it certainly felt otherwise."

"When you _found_ it?"

"It belonged to _my_ adad.  He also preferred the ax and he inherited it from my grandfather, Farin."

"What happened to your father? Did he die in the Battle of Moria?"

"No. He survived it." There was a heavy silence, during which Bilbo shuffled and Glóin waited. Finally, the dwarf spoke. "He passed from the same thing your mother did. Heartbreak."

"Oh, I am sorry. What.. what happened to your mother?"

"Age. She was older than Adad."

"Oh. How old were you when they...?"

"I was 62 years old."

"Ah, sixty-" Bilbo stopped suddenly. He looked thoughtful and  Glóin could practically hear the gears grinding in his head. He was none too surprised when the hobbit turned to him with a quizzical look. "But, then...I thought dwarves come of age at 72?"

"We do."

"And you were sixty-two."

"Aye."

"But... who looked after you?"

"How do you think Óin's hair became so grey?"

"I thought he was just old."

"Well, he is, but he did go grey young. He blamed me."

Bilbo giggled and cuddled into Glóin again. "I'm sure you weren't that bad."

"I had my moments."

"Who doesn't?" Bilbo muttered. "There was only ten years. I'm sure you did nothing so terrible that it made him go grey."

"He'd disagree with that, pundurith." Glóin shook his head at the memories and then looked at Bilbo. "Now, do you promise that you'll remember the rule to not touch the ax again?"

"I promise, Adad."

"Good lad." Glóin hugged him again and then placed him upon his bedroll. "Lie down for a bit to rest some more. We've got a long journey ahead.

 

 


	30. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glóin and Bilbo lose each other and we meet the Elvenking's son.

He'd been right to hate the forest, Bilbo thought as he hurried toward the Elves. Enchanted rivers, angry trees and suffocating air aside, the forest was also _overrun_ with giant Spiders.

They made the one in his bedroll at the start of the journey look absolutely _puny_.

And Adad had been right about these Elves. Lean, beautiful and tall like all Elvenfolk, but they were also hard and cold to their impromptu guests, particularly when one considered that the group of dwarves had barely survive being eaten by the wicked arachnids. Though, Kíli seemed quite taken by a redheaded Elf-maiden, happily smiling at her as she looked over him with scrutinising, dark eyes. She seemed friendly in comparison to a blonde who'd snatched Glóin's locket and was in the process of opening it up to see what was inside.

"Who is this? Your brother?"

It was fortunate that Óin, who was waiting rather impatiently for the return of his ear horn, didn't hear that. Everyone would have been hysterical with laughter had the situation not been so grim. But it was and the only reaction the Elf got was a growled," _that_ is my _wife_!"

"What is this horrid creature? A Goblin mutant?"

Óin did hear that, his trumpet back where it belonged, and he shot the Elf a nasty look as his brother muttered, "that's my wee lad, Gimli."

The Elf said nothing and dropped the locket as though it burned him. Bilbo wasn't surprised to hear his adad grumble what sounded like a rude Dwarvish word as he picked his locket back up again, tenderly wiping it on his sleeve as though trying to get rid of any lingering marks left by the Elf's slender fingers.

"Take them to my father," the blonde Elf said. "The King will want to see them."

Staying as close to the Company as he dared, Bilbo pushed his Ring further down his finger and hoped he would not be caught.

* * *

 

Oh, this was just perfect. He'd _known_ he shouldn't have lingered so far back. Bilbo glared crossly at the two doorways, wondering which was the one that had his companions travelling through it. Taking a step into the first one, he  tried to hear any curses, shuffling of feet, the familiar sound of leather on stone, but heard nothing. Trying the second one, he distinctly heard  voices and went farther, hoping to find them, but only found a group of Elves chattering amongst themselves about how the Spider problem was worsening.

Spirits dampened, he left and sat by a wall, his legs tucked up and tried to think.

Where could they be?

Eventually, he got up and tried the first corridor he'd stepped foot inside. There was a descent and Nori had once told him that 'the best dungeons are below ground where the cold bites the hardest.' How Nori knew, Bilbo never dared to think, but he went on, shivering a little as the air, predictably, grew colder. 

It just didn't feel right. There were no voices, no person there and Bilbo doubted that the dwarves were here. Sighing softly, he walked along until he found a little alcove which he went into, curled up, and wondered if he would ever see the dwarrows again.

* * *

 

Though he felt it was futile, he kept going into that corridor and travelled around, looking here and there in hopes that he would find them. He also looked around the palace, finding wonderful, _homely_ things- baths,  dusty bedrooms, and, best of all, a kitchen. He often saw the blonde Elf who'd said such unforgivable things about Glóin's family. The first time, he'd froze and trembled, before realizing that the Elf couldn't see him and then watched in amusement as said Elf glanced around and then brought a cookie tin down and proceeded to feast upon the contents.

The fact that the treat-stealing Elf was there so often meant that Bilbo couldn't draw attention to his own foraging. He had to be very careful and ensure that he was quiet and quick when swiping an apple from the wooden fruit bowl that stood near the edge of a counter. The only things that were easy for him to grab were the fruit bowl,seasonings or jars of olives and chutney. Occasionally, the door of the vegetable larder would be left open and he would grab whatever he could- tomatoes, carrots, what he could take quickly and then he would leave to devour what he'd taken. 

One day, he was watching the Elf do his ritual of making sure nobody saw him helping himself to the biscuit-barrel, when the redhead entered the room, forcing the blond to hastily jam the tin back onto the shelf.

"Legolas," she said, smiling knowingly at the blonde. "Time to check the prisoners. You can steal from the king's stash of treats later."

"I was making sure that they were edible." Legolas argued. "Tauriel! Shame on you for suggesting such a thing."

She chuckled at him, standing to one side to let him through and then went after him, silently laughing. Quietly, Bilbo ran after them.

* * *

 Glóin was going crazy. If it wasn't bad enough that they were still in Mirkwood, in cells, and had naught but Elves and each other for company, he was worried to death about Bilbo. He didn't even have Óin with him.

Footsteps drew his attention from his locket (fancy that Elf saying Neoma looked like Óin!) and he looked up to see the blonde glancing at him. Behind the Elf, the redheaded Elf-maiden did the same before moving on. It must be evening. That and morning was when they usually did their shifts.

He heard Fíli ask something and then the two Elves said something back. He was probably asking after Kíli, even though the lad was only a shout away. Then again, the two had _never_ been separated before, unless one counted the five years before   Kíli was born. 

It was rather cruel to keep the brothers apart. He'd actually heard the blonde quietly asking his Captain if they really had to keep families apart and the redhead looked unhappy as she'd confirmed it. 

They were still wicked for imprisoning them, though. Finally, the footsteps faded away and Glóin lay his head back against the cold wall and  thought of Neoma.

"Adad?"

Was this some evil trick? Glóin looked up and was equally horrified and thankful to see Bilbo looking toward him. Thankful because he was alive and horrified because  _had he always been that thin?!_

"Bilbo!" He reached through the cell and grabbed him into a hug, almost lifting him off his feet. "Laddie, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Bilbo answered, his voice muffled due to his face being buried in his adad's shoulder. "Where is everyone? Where's Óin?"

"He's somewhere to the left. Go on and see him."  Glóin set him back on his own feet and watched him go, a sense of relief flowing through his body. 

They had their burglar safe.


	31. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds his family. But where is their king?

 

 

The dungeon grew darker, the more Bilbo walked along the stone ground. Flaming torches lit his way and he kept a hand on the wall. It was narrow, so that he could almost touch both sides if he held his arms out. The wall disappeared under his touch and cold bars of metal stole the warmth from his fingertips.

"Who goes there?"

"Óin! It's me, it's Bilbo."

"Ah, good." Óin said. "Come closer, lad." Doing so, Bilbo rested his hands on a horizontal bar on the cell door. The healer rested his own, warm hands on top of his and gently tipped up his chin, as Glóin had done so often. He frowned. "What the hell have you done to yourself?"

Bilbo stared at him as though he'd grown an extra head instead of asking a perfectly reasonable question. "What do you mean?"

"You look like a walking skeleton!" Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but the healer shushed him, impatiently asking, "what have you been living off these past few days?"

"Whatever I could reach." Bilbo admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. "It's not my fault that the blonde one is always there..."

Óin muttered something inaudible. "Well, I suppose you can't help that," he said rather gruffly. "But what about the bags under your eyes, hmm?"

"I, well... you'd be too nervous to sleep as well." Bilbo mumbled. "In a strange place with guards and other Elves walking around all the time."

Óin was not impressed. "There is always a place where nobody goes," he stated. "Particularly in a place as massive as this."

"But, Óin..!"

"Don't argue." Óin firmly chided. "Good Mahal, you're pale, and all." Lifting Bilbo's hand, he turned it palm-up and placed a finger on his wrist, nodding when he noted that the pulse wasn't too slow or too fast. "I want you to rest."

"But-"

"No, listen. You clearly haven't been resting since we wound up in this place. You keep this up and you'll do yourself some terrible damage. And the next time you're in those kitchens, I don't care if Prince Prancer is in there, get yourself nourished. You should try going there earlier or later to avoid seeing anyone."

"Alright."

"Promise me, laddie."

"I promise."

"Good. Have you found your adad?"

"Yes. He's in a cell to the right."

"Is he alright?"

"He is, but he looked a bit fed-up."

"Little wonder," said Óin, shaking his head. "This place is enough to drive anyone mad."

"Have you ever been here before?"

"No," answered Óin. " _Our_  adad came here once, and he said it was horrific. I didn't believe him at the time."

"Do you remember him?"

"Oh, aye. I wouldn't ever forget him!" Óin chuckled to himself. "Out of the both of us, I vow that Glóin took after him the most."

"Really?"

"Looks like he did. Especially the hair."

"Glóin said that you were there after... after they died."

"Of course. Who else would take the idiot on?"

"But you weren't very old either."

"No, but I am his elder brother. Our uncle was long dead, so they trusted me to be the one."

"What about your cousins?"

"It's like an inheritance of sorts," Óin told him. "Strange thing to call it, really, but that's the general idea. If the parents of a child die, the uncle or the aunt steps in. If an aunt or uncle aren't available, the older brother or sister step in. If not them, it's the cousins. And if there are no cousins, then the grandparents will be entrusted."

"Oh. What was it like?"

"Bloody horrible," Óin grumbled. "I wouldn't recommend it."

"You're exaggerating." Bilbo laughed. "You are!"

Óin smiled, shaking his head again. "Maybe a tad," he confessed. "Whether older or younger, brothers stand by each other. It might have been horrific at times, but I'd never let anyone else have him."

"You were like a shomakhâl." Bilbo said, peering curiously at the dwarf. "Weren't you?"

"Are, not were. Age is of no consequence. Although, you aren't wrong. I am my brother's gêmadad ."

"What's that?"

"It translates to 'third father', but he only calls me that when he wants something. Or to just be a sarcastic little shite."

"You were his adad?"

"Only technically. We both knew that nobody could ever take our adad's place. I didn't try to be our father with him. Would have felt disrespectful."

"So, like, a spare?"

Óin snorted. "That's a charming thing to call it, but yes."

Bilbo wondered what his adad had been like as a youngster. "I can't imagine it."

"Can't imagine what?"

"You two being young."

Óin grinned. "Your adad aged me, you know."

"Mm. He said as much."

"Oh, he admitted it, did he?"

"Sort of."

Óin chuckled. "Next time you see him, ask him what happened to him during the Spider attack. Then tell me."

"If he calls, can you hear him?"

"Aye, somewhat, but he's never been good at deciding what injuries are worth telling me about."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

"Me? I'm fine, just a bruise or two on my side. Got a cut on my arm, though."

Óin pulled up his sleeve and peered at it. "Hmm. It looks fairly clean." He pulled the cravat around his hobbit-nephew's neck undone."You're better off keeping it covered," he advised, wrapping up his arm.

Bilbo, who'd learned long ago to not bother arguing with Óin about treating an injury, allowed the healer to do as he pleased. "My papa would throw a fit if he could see."

"Well, that would be tough luck on his half." Óin said, patting his arm. "You should go on to see the others, laddie. Now, remember, you must rest and you need to eat. I'm not having you running about on low energy."

"I'll remember." Bilbo promised.

"Good."

Bilbo briefly wondered how many times Glóin had had his brother fussing over him. Unbidden, a mental image of Dori checking Óri over came into his mind and he bit back a grin as he wandered up the corridor.

* * *

"Melekûn!"

"Bifur? Oh, Bifur, it is you!"

The dwarf reached for him and then pulled him closer, muttering Dwarven words under his breath. He kept mentioning Óin, or his name, at least and seemed most agitated.

"He's fine." Bilbo said, trying to calm him. "He's just fine, Bifur."

Bifur reached to touch his cheek, frowning heavily. Bilbo grasped his wrist.

"It's fine, Bifur, really."

"Hmm." Bifur growled. He clearly didn't agree."Bofur?"

Bifur seemed to find names a struggle to say, Bilbo noted. He shook his head. "Sorry, I've only found Adad and Unc- Óin, so far."

Bifur bowed his head and shuffled his feet a little, but didn't get angry. He gave the hobbit another hug and pulled back, gently pushing Bilbo away and pointed left.

Promising to return later on with news, Bilbo went further down the dark passage.

* * *

He found Balin next who fussed worse than Óin had. Wise, the dwarf was, but he had a chronic worrying problem, helped little by the days spent without knowing what was happening to his brother and cousins.

"Who have you found, laddie?"

"You, Bifur, Óin, and Adad."

"Hmm." Balin nodded. "I see. Well, that's a start. The others can't be far away."

* * *

Going on, he discovered Óri who nearly dragged him through the bars on the cell with joy at seeing him.

"Oh, I thought you were dead!"

"I'm alive." Bilbo told him, finding an unravelled plait at the back of Óri's head and gently tugging it. "And, more importantly, so are you."

Óri lowered his head onto Bilbo's shoulder. "You're important too," he said, tightening his hold. "I'm so glad you're well. But you look so tired!"

He was, but shook it off. Óri's deep-blue eyes were wide and nervous and he didn't wish to panic him. "I'm fine, Óri. Just fine."

"Mmm." Óri loosened his grip and found Bilbo's hands. Holding them between his, he looked back at Bilbo. "Who else is there to find?"

Distracted by the warmth coming from his mittened hands, Bilbo blinked stupidly before answering. "Oh, um... Your brothers, Dwalin, Fíli, Kíli, Bofur, Bombur and Thorin."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure that won't take long." Óri looked down at Bilbo's hands. "I miss my brothers. They've kept us all apart."

"You'll be together again soon." Bilbo told him, gripping his hands back. "I swear you will."

Dwalin was to be discovered in the next cell, his chief concerns being his brother and king.  
Then he wanted to know who'd been found and whether "that idiot was badly hurt or not". Bilbo told him what he knew and was surprised when Dwalin dragged him close, bent down and gently tapped his forehead to the hobbit's.

"How are you?" Dwalin asked, his voice soft. "You look exhausted, little lad."

"I'm not little." Bilbo protested, making the warrior huff a laugh. "I'm well, thank you. What of you?"

"I'd prefer we weren't here, but I am unhurt." Dwalin pulled back and held Bilbo's shoulders. "Go on and find the others. Don't go too far away!"

* * *

Bombur was the next to be found. The round dwarf was happy to hear that Bifur had been found, but looked anxious once he discovered that Bofur hadn't been found yet.

"Oh, where could my brother be?"

"He must be here somewhere." Bilbo said, trying to console him.

"You're right, it's just I've never been apart from him for this long. An older brother is always there, you know."

Bilbo didn't know personally, but understood Bombur's worry far too well. The dwarrow was glad to hear that the others were nearby and then noticed how gaunt his companion was.

"Oh, dear. I don't suppose they leave much that you can reach."

"That's a problem." Bilbo confessed. "Only, I-I... I just..."

"You can tell me." Bombur coaxed. "What is it?"

"I don't feel like there's enough time. It feels like I'm wasting time sitting around and eating when I should be-"

"Well, that's silly." Bombur chided. "You'd be keeping yourself alive, daft hobbit, not wasting time. I hope for your sake that you haven't told Glóin or Óin that."

Shuddering at the thought of the fury that would rain upon him if his adad and dwarf-uncle were to find out, Bilbo shook his head. "You won't tell, will you?"

"Promise that you'll eat more and I won't tell a soul."

"I swear to you."

"Good." Bombur's jowly face was more cheerful now. "Now. I wonder who'll you see next?"

The next person was Fíli who nearly cried when he saw him. The blonde heir of Durin gave him such a hug that Bilbo nearly lost all the air from his lungs. Fortunately, Fíli could be persuaded to loosen his grip and the two held onto each other, Fíli's hitched breathing breaking any silences.

"I haven't seen a normal-sized person in what seems like months." the prince sighed sadly to his friend. "They're all tall! It's so unnatural. One of them is nice and she talks to Kíli for me, but the others are horrible."

"Oh, Fíli." Bilbo rubbed his back as Glóin did for him. "Don't worry. I'll get you out of here if it's the last thing I do."

"Balin always says 'if there's a will, there's a way'." Fíli sniffled. "I never gave much thought to it, but now I think he might be right." Pulling back, he offered Bilbo a watery smile. "I'm sure there's a way. Did you find Uncle yet?"

"No. But I've found Adad, Óin, Bifur, Óri, Bombur, Balin, Dwalin and you."

"Oh. Well, he'll be somewhere here, then." Fíli said confidently, though his eyes shone in the dim torchlight with unshed tears. "I wonder who else will be?"

* * *

The next cell contained Bofur who gave a startled look when he saw Bilbo.

"Here, is it really you?"

"Yes." Bilbo stepped closer. "It's me, Bofur. Are you alright?"

Bofur grabbed him up and plastered a kiss on his forehead. Then Bilbo found himself in yet another tight embrace, though nowhere as tight as Fíli's had been.

"Bless me thrice! I thought you gone, lad. My, but you look pale. Have you seen Bifur and Bombur? Where's Nori? Have you found-?"

"I'm fine, just tired," Bilbo interrupted before the dwarf could ask another question. "Yes, I've seen them and they are alive and well. Nori, I've not found-"

Bofur groaned.

"But I have found Óri."

"Dori's not with him?" Bofur asked.

"No. I've not found Dori yet, either."

Bofur looked thoughtful. "Wonder how Óri's faring with his first bit of freedom."

"He's in jail, I wouldn't call that 'freedom'."

"You know what I mean. Freedom from his amad." Bofur said, grinning softly to himself.

Bilbo snorted. "I'm telling Nori you said that."

Bofur chuckled. "Aye, well, I imagine that'll get him breaking t'door down. Who've you just come from?"

"Fíli."

"Oh, next door to royalty, is it? Not bad, not bad at all."

"I'm definitely telling Nori."

"Aw, you wouldn't do such a cruel thing, would you?"

"That depends on what kind of tale you've told that day."

"I'll tell the tale of our little hobbit who braved the Mirkwood dungeons for us."

Bofur's smile was kindly and Bilbo felt completely drained. Leaning against what part of the dwarf he could reach, he felt his own tears prickle at his eyes.

"What am I going to do, Bofur?"

"Hey, now." Bofur's clumsy, but gentle fingers dried a stray tear and then the dwarf cuddled him close. "Don't go worrying yourself, Bilbo. It'll be alright in the end. You've got thirteen friends, at least one of which has experience in these sorts of... situations."

"I thought I would never find you again." Bilbo confessed. "I thought I'd end up lost in this awful place forever while...oh, why did the Wizard have to go?"

"Mahal only knows." Bofur said. "But, I meant it. It will be alright in the end, lad. It'll be just fine. It will."

"You've been an older brother for too long."

Bofur laughed delightedly. "Too long, eh? Well, 97 years is a rather long time."

"He's so much older than me!"

"We're all older than you! Nearly a hundred years, he is. Who'd believe it?"

"Does Bombur have children?"

"He just had a little daughter before he went on the quest. Little sweetheart, she is, my niece."

"I'm getting him back to her."

"Oh, I don't doubt it."

"Will you marry Nori?"

"That, young man, is a very personal question." Bofur pretended to scold. "But, I think it may be a possibility. Bifur would marry Óin..."

"I'm not sure Óin's the sort to want to marry."

"True, but I'd wager Glóin would force 'em up the aisle at ax-point if they didn't."

"Would he really?"

"Maybe not literally, but I think he'd prefer it. So would I, in honesty. Besides, marriage is the union of two Ones. Takes a while to get married, what with courting, but it's worth the wait."

"So, I hear." Bilbo sighed. "It must be wonderful."

"It is," Bofur agreed. "Wonder where he is now."

Looking at the wistful dwarf, Bilbo reached to lightly pull a braid. "I'll go and find him, shall I?"

* * *

As luck would have it, the next person was Dori, who was a welcome sight, if looking different. His snow-white hair was dangling from its tight and intricate braids, and he'd lost his cylindrical bead which had held his beard together neatly.  
Still, he was still himself, despite his less tidy appearance, fussing over Bilbo, asking about his brothers, questioning whether they had lost weight or were badly injured...and then began scolding the hobbit for not looking after himself.

"You're worse than Glóin and Nori combined!" Dori finished, carefully drawing Bilbo closer and hugging him.

"Nobody's worse than Nori."

"Maybe not, but it's a close second." Dori grumbled.

"And Adad's definitely not that bad."

"Ask Óin. He'll tell you."

"Perhaps I will. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. What have you done to yourself, eh?"

"Nothing. I just... This place feels so...unsafe."

"I agree." Dori said, patting his back. "Poor little thing. You should stay here with us at nights and rest as best you can."

"I might, but I don't want to risk being caught."

"Ah. Well, we'd make sure you weren't, lad."

Dori was being truthful, Bilbo didn't doubt. Gruff and fierce, the dwarves were, but they were also loyal and protective, particularly to the youngest in their group.

"I think that would be a good idea," he said after a short while.

"Getting rest is always a good idea." Dori replied. "What're you up to now, then?"

"I want to see if I can find the others; Nori, Kíli, and Thorin."

Dori nodded and let him go. "Be careful," he warned.

"I will." Bilbo vowed. "I will be careful."

* * *

It was no shock to see Nori scratching away at the lock with what looked to be an old hair-clip. Bilbo grinned to himself and putting on a very serious voice, said to Nori:

"Master Dwarf, what are you doing?"

Nori jumped and said a great deal of very rude words, some of which Bilbo had never heard before. "You," he said, pointing the hair-clip at him,"are going to be my death! Doing things like that.. I blame Bofur."

"He misses you."

Nori looked vaguely hopeful. "You've seen him?"

"Yes. And Dori and Óri."

"Good. Who else?"

"I've only got Kíli and Thorin left to find."

"Great. Now, listen." Nori grasped Bilbo's shoulders, initiating eye contact. "The Bearer of Keys has them on his belt. He's a dark-haired Elf and-"

"How am I supposed to get them?"

"Find him, follow him. I'm sure you'll get them!"

"But.. What if I fail?"

"You won't. You're careful and that's your biggest strength right now. You'll be fine."

"If you say so."

"I do say so, and what I say goes." Nori retorted, ruffling Bilbo's curls. "Mahal's stones, I bet everyone's just had a fit seeing you. If you turned sideways, you'd be invisible!"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "You're an exaggerating fool!"

"How dare you?" Nori asked, acting horrified.

"Because it's true." Bilbo answered, smiling at the dwarf.

"Hard to find time to eat and sleep?"

"Something like that."

"Well, you make lots of visits to wherever it is you're going and sleep by us during daylight." Nori instructed. "Aüle, what a mess! I bet Dori's going berserk."

"Maybe he'll tie you and Óri to a leash."

"And you think your adad will let you out of his sight again?"

Bilbo's smirk fell. "I hadn't thought of that!"

Nori grinned wickedly. "I can see it already. He'd be sitting you on his lap at mealtimes..."

"Nori!"

"Holding your tiny hands."

"They're not tiny! I'll have you know they're a reasonable size for a hobbit!"

Nori cackled at him. "You are going to be mother-henned out of existence."

"I'm going to tell Dori you miss having lullabies sung to you." Bilbo threatened. "I'll tell him that you liked having him braid your hair!"

Nori looked repulsed at the second threat. "Oh, no! You wouldn't do such a cruel thing, not to me!"

"I think you'd look dashing."

"No. Anything else, but a dwarf's hair is sacred. How does it look by the way?"

"Oh, um.." Bilbo looked at the rough attempts Nori had made to make his hair go back into it's star-like shape. It was untidy and messy, but he still looked like himself. "Good! Yes, really nice, Nori."

"You're a terrible liar, Bilbo. We'll have to do something about that."

"Well, it's different, but you still look like you."

Nori looked dejected. "At least you didn't run away screaming, I suppose." he murmured.

"Have you made much progress with the lock?"

"Nope. I've worked on all kinds of locks and managed to open them all, but this one has me stumped." Nori gave a bar an experimental pull and shook his head.

"I'll get the keys somehow."

Nori smiled and tousled his curls. "Be careful, eh?"

"I will." Stepping away from the cell, Bilbo looked back at the dwarf. "I'm going to go and see if I can find Kíli and Thorin. I'll come back soon, Nori."

Nori said nothing, but nodded, and Bilbo could feel his olive-green eyes watching him steadily as he journeyed on.

* * *

Kíli seemed in quite cheerful spirits when Bilbo found him. Holding a polished stone in his hands, the dwarf was humming, a little smile on his lips which broke into a large grin when Kíli's brown eyes spotted the hobbit.

"Bilbo!"

"Shh!" Bilbo warned, trying to placate the excited brunette. "Kíli, shh. There might be guards nearby."

Kíli seized him into a fierce embrace and held onto him tightly, mumbling happily.

At least he was quieter now.

"Tauriel said Fíli's alright, but are the others?"

"They're fine. I just need to find Thorin."

"You haven't found Uncle?"

"No, sorry."

Kíli looked woeful. "Well," he said, trying to sound positive. "Maybe he's alright. They didn't tell me about the others and I... I was afraid to ask."

"Oh, Kíli."

Kíli rested his chin on Bilbo's shoulder. When he next spoke, his voice sounded shaky. "I really miss them. I've never been alone before, not like this. Should've asked, really, but... I was cowardly-"

"Stop! You were frightened, that's all. It's alright to be afraid and it's alright to react to it. You are no coward, Kíli. Thorin would kill you for saying such a thing."

"You won't tell him, will you? If you find him."

"When I find him, I promise I won't tell."

Kíli pulled back to give him a smile and then squeezed him again, his jaw resting on the hobbit's shoulder. He didn't seem to need being held for as long as Fíli had and soon released Bilbo, looking as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I will find Thorin."

Kíli nodded. "I know you will." Looking rather sheepish, he cleared his throat. "Will you come back later?"

"Of course. I'll definitely come back."

Kíli nodded and watched his friend go. Tracing the runes on his polished stone, he wondered if their burglar could indeed find his uncle.


	32. Enchained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds someone he's been searching for. Legolas shows his good side.

Disaster had struck. The dwarf king was nowhere to be found. Bilbo searched five times, quietly calling Thorin's name, but there was no answering rumble, no tread of feet, not even a soft breath for the hobbit to hear and follow.

Spirits considerably dampened, he went back to the others, his head hung low.

They were worried, certainly, but all did their best to assure him that Thorin couldn't have gone far and they would have known by now if he'd died.

Still, by the time he found his adad he felt so wretched that the first thing he did was throw himself at the surprised dwarf and just pretend that the bars on the door were not real. He didn't want to talk anymore and simply wanted his dwarf-father's comfort and warmth to sink into. Whether by intuition or having overheard a snippet of Óin's loud repetition of, "You've not yet found him?", Glóin didn't ask anything and held him tightly, occasionally patting his back or smoothing his hair.

"I don't know w-what to do!" Bilbo choked out in a wavering voice. "What if..if..."

"What if you can't find him?"

"Mmm." Bilbo confirmed pushing his face back into Glóin's chest.

"Well, we'd not hold that against you, laddie. It's not  _your_  fault after all."

"I don't know where he could be." Bilbo confessed after a short while. "I only found you by luck."

"You'll be fortunate again." Glóin told him. "Just use your hearing well again and keep as close to the Bearer of Keys as you dare."

"Alright."

"How have you been, lad? You look thin."

Bilbo shuffled a bit. "I'm fine, Adad. Just a lot of Elves around, you know."

"Have you been doing everything you can to make sure you're getting enough food and rest?"

"Y-yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm doing what I can, Adad!"

"Alright, now, don't get angry. Come, pundurith, surely you can understand why I'm asking? You've grown worryingly thin."

"I didn't mean to."

Glóin gently tipped his chin up. "I know. I know, little laddie. Have you eaten today?"

Bilbo nodded, thinking back to the apple he'd snatched that morning. Glóin looked doubtful, but nodded. "Have you slept much?"

"It takes a long time to get to sleep. I keep thinking someone will come around the corner and find me."

"Hmm. That does seem quite the problem. How have you managed to keep away from them for so long?"

"Hobbits can disappear quickly when they need to." Bilbo offered, smiling tiredly.

"So it seems! Will you sit down, lad?"

Bilbo did, though the hard stone ground dug into him and the coldness was almost painful. After several moments of shuffling in a vain attempt to find some comfortable piece of floor, his dwarf-father reached for him and lifted him onto his feet.

"You poor little sod. I'd have you in here if I could. Perhaps you should go-"

"No, I can't go!"

"Lad-"

"Don't send me away, please!" Bilbo pleaded into Glóin's shoulder. "I don't want to be alone anymore, 'specially not in this awful place."

"Oh, my pundurith."

"Just let me stay here until I must go, please, Adad."

"I see no harm in that. But when you go, you must go to rest. Yes?"

Bilbo nodded, glad not to be looking into the bright black of his dwarf-father's eyes. He still had to find Thorin and he had to find a way to get them out of Mirkwood. He had no intention of resting until they were out of the wicked forest, but the less Glóin knew the better. In fact no one needed to know, but Bilbo's dwarf-father and dwarf-uncle certainly didn't need to. Such was the hobbit's opinion, anyway.

"Yes, Adad." Bilbo mumbled, aware that Glóin was watching him very closely.

"And you need to remember to visit the kitchen. You're so thin, I wager I could fit my hand 'round your waist!"

Bilbo smiled tiredly. "There's nothing you wouldn't bet on, Adad, there really isn't!"

Glóin tousled his curls. "Isn't there?"

"I happen to know that you and Dwalin bet on whether or not Fíli and Kíli would be boys."

"Dwalin lost both times." Glóin said smugly, smiling rather proudly. "He didn't know whether to be happy or not, the day they were born!"

"Is he your favourite cousin?"

Glóin chuckled quietly. "I couldn't possibly divulge that information, little one. You'd tell Bofur and that would be the end of it."

"So, you won't tell me?"

"No."

"I'll ask Óin."

"Will you?" Glóin laughed.

"I thought you all told your brothers everything." Bilbo accused.

"Aye, but there are limits! By Aüle, he'd growl away if he knew."

Unbidden, a new question grew in Bilbo's mind until he blurted it out. "Do you have any other cousins?"

Glóin frowned a little. "That's a question for another time, lad."

"Did something bad happen?"

"-It's his own fault for leaving the shortbread in such an obvious place!"

The guards were coming from a different direction this time. Bilbo froze. Hastily, he have Glóin a last, desperate glance and ran away into the darkness, slipping the Ring on, as he did so.

* * *

Young Bilbo could vanish like a dwarfling found using his amad's makeup as art supplies when he put his mind to it.

He had to remember to hide Neoma's kohl when they met up with her.

Ah, yes, Neoma. Think of her, not the poncy tree-shagger who was standing by the cell, watching.

Glóin had learned some time ago that the Elves preferred to hand them their mugs and plates as opposed to simply sliding them along the floor. Glóin liked to irritate them by pretending that they weren't waiting by his door.

"Dwarf!" the elf called, impatiently tapping a foot. "Hurry up and get your supper, I haven't got all day."

"How long do your kind live, elf? Ten thousand years or more?"

The elf snorted. "Yes, yes. Come on."

Glóin got to his feet and slowly shuffled over. It was a trick he'd picked up back when he was a wee beardling and had enjoyed tormenting his poor brother when the two argued.

He'd give anything to see Óin now.

The elf was still watching him as he placed the cup and bronze platter onto the ground. "Who are you, anyway?"

"It's none of your business." Glóin growled at him.

The elf crossed his arms and surveyed him through lowered eyelashes. "You're in my prison."

"Well, if you'd let us out of it, you'd no longer need to worry!"

The elf coughed a laugh. He crouched, so that Glóin was suddenly faced with a pair of deep violet eyes. "We are holding Oakenshield in one of our lowest dungeons. Eventually he shall break. I ask you again, dwarf, what have you to tell us?"

Glóin paused, watching him. Black eyes stared into indigo while the dwarrow thought up an answer. Finally, Glóin decided what to say and stared him directly in the eyes as he spoke.

"Ish kaqwai ai durugnul."

He'd spoken a fantastically terrible curse. The elf clearly suspected it, his slim eyebrows knotting together in annoyance. There was a long, long silence broken, unsurprisingly by the elf sneering.

"You will break before the end!"

"Elf, I have been in battle, I've been beaten so terribly that I still the wounds, I've been nearly killed more times than I can count and I survived the Goblins of the West and the Spiders of the East. Your poxy little cell won't do anything to break me."

The elf smirked. "We'll see."

* * *

The elf was taking a frustratingly long time. Bilbo curled tightly inside the alcove, shaking his head at a strange whispering.

Mirkwood really was an awful place.

Soon, the tall, unmistakable figure of Ëtras, Bearer of Keys, walked by, his keys jingling in a jolly fashion on his belt. Waiting until the elf was fully out of earshot, Bilbo crept back to the cells, gladly removing his Ring as he did.

"Adad?"

"Bilbo! I thought you were going to rest?"

"I did," Bilbo said. Technically, he had rested by sitting in the alcove.

"Hmph. That elf must have been here longer than I thought." Glóin muttered. "Here." Holding out a piece of glazed meat, he gave Bilbo a pointed look. "Eat this, laddie."

"I couldn't! I don't know how many meals you get a day..."

"We get three and I'm not going to waste away by you having the deer. I bet you haven't had meat in weeks and it's not healthy. Eat it."

"But, Adad..."

Apparently bored with the argument, Glóin quickly shoved the food into his hobbit-son's mouth. There were many muffled curse-words and Glóin raised an eyebrow at him.

"What was that, lad?"

"It's terrible manners to shove things in people's mouths."

"It's also terrible manners to disobey your adad." Glóin chided. "And the swearing is bad too. We'll have to do something about that. Here, if you're finished, eat this carrot."

"This is the second Elven Kingdom with an abundance of carrots," Bilbo grumbled as he crunched up the bright orange root vegetable.

"Could be worse."

Bilbo grinned wickedly. "At least it's not honey!"

Glóin hmphed, but he tucked a curl behind Bilbo's ear. "This is what it's going to be," he muttered. "I just know you're going to play a terrible trick one of these days."

"That's an excellent idea!"

Glóin chuckled and broke a cinnamon-scented wafer in half and gave the bigger half to him, scowling so hard at his protests that Bilbo quickly shut up and accepted it.

"Did you play pranks on people when you were little?"

"A few, yes."

Bilbo giggled. "Like what?"

"I once succeeded in tricking Óin into thinking I was bleeding to death."

"Oh, Adad! That's awful!" Bilbo scolded through his quiet laughter.

"He agreed."

"How did you do it?"

"I was just of age and I had been at the tavern. Nori, the idiot he is, had managed to annoy a woman 'til she threw her wine over us. Then, on our way home, he said 'You look like you've been stabbed!' Then I decided to play the trick on Óin who was not amused at all."

"Did he shout?"

"He didn't just shout, he roared. He wasn't happy at all."

"He forgave you eventually, didn't he?"

"Aye. I suppose it's hard to stay angry with your hungover nadad who's almost in tears and begging your forgiveness."

"We all do foolish things when drunk."

"When were you drunk?" Glóin asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

"This time last year."

The dwarf looked unhappy with that answer. Bilbo gazed in confusion at him.

"What?"

"Aren't you a bit young for drinking?"

"Aren't you a bit old for adventuring?"

Glóin frowned at him. "Don't get lippy. If you had children, you'd be asking these questions too."

"Sorry, Adad."

Glóin reached for his hand and squeezed it. "No matter. Answer my question, laddie."

"No, I'm not too young. At thirty-three, we're allowed, but I had my first ale after Mama died."

"Didn't she like you drinking?"

"No. She was very ill after Papa died and I didn't want to do anything that could stop me from caring for her."

"You looked after her by yourself?"

Bilbo shrugged. "She was ill, I was of age and I was her only child. It was my duty to care for her."

"You had no other kin?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No. None that could help."

At this admission, he was scooped up and held in familiar strong arms. A huge, Dwarven paw was rubbing at his back and he didn't roll his eyes or smile at his soft-hearted dwarf-father. Instead, he held onto what part of his adad that he could reach and accepted the embrace.

* * *

Adad had told him that he would be well off if he kept close to the Bearer of Keys, as he seemed to know where Thorin was. Luck had been on the little hobbit's side for as he'd stolen away from the dungeons holding his adad and family, he nearly literally bumped into the Bearer of Keys and had to hurry to put his Ring back on.

"My Prince, Legolas, I shall see to Oakenshield now..."

"I shall join you." Legolas said and his blurry figure entered Bilbo's vision. "Perhaps he will talk to us today."

"Hmph."

The two elves seemed disinterested in each other, though they remained polite. The Elven Prince was vastly different to the Bearer of Keys. The Bearer of Keys had longer, paler hair in comparison to the fractionally deeper blonde hair of the Prince which tumbled over his shoulders to underneath his shoulder-blades. The Prince wore green as did his companion, but it was a deep, emerald-green as opposed to the dull olive-green worn by the Bearer of Keys.

In addition, the Prince was friendly. At least, compared to the Bearer of Keys.

Passing further along the cold, damp corridor, Bilbo did his best to try and listen for the dwarf King. But Thorin made no sound and if the Prince and Bearer of Keys hadn't stopped, Bilbo would have gone past the cell holding Thorin.

"Dwarf. The Prince of the Woodland Realm would like to speak with you."

There was no answer. Then Bilbo heard a gentle clink of metal on metal.

Legolas frowned. "You had him chained?" he asked, looking as displeased as Bilbo now felt.

"King's orders, my Prince."

"But the door is perfectly secure!"

The Bearer of Keys simply shrugged. "Can't help it."

Legolas glanced at the floor and slowly knelt. The Bearer of Keys began to protest, only to be hushed. Then Legolas spoke, halted, guttural words.

There was silence.

"You," a familiar voice snarled,"have no right to speak those words, elfling."

"Forgive me."

Thorin snorted. "Forgive you? After all you've done, Thranduiliôn, I shan't."

"We simply wish to know why you and your companions are here."

"I told your father. We were lost and starving..."

The Bearer of Keys interrupted with a disbelieving laugh. "Nonsense! You listen to the words of a liar, O Prince. The dwarves are plotting something, and something bad. Come. You have spent too long with this heir of a disgraced line."

Legolas' eyes went hard. "You go," he ordered. "I wish to speak with Oakenshield."

The Bearer of Keys went, but Legolas stayed. The elf looked into the cell for a long time before quietly uttering Thorin's name again.

"Talk to me."

"No."

"Is he right to suspect you, then? Adar doesn't wish to keep you here forever, Oakenshield."

"Could've fooled me."

"He can be stubborn, but surely you understand why he is suspicious? What are you doing in these parts?"

Thorin clammed up. Bilbo could almost see him tightening his mouth and shaking his head. Legolas' lips pursed, but he said nothing, stood up and gave the cell door a piercing stare before turning smartly on his heel and walking out.

Waiting 'til the elf's light footsteps could no longer be heard, Bilbo removed his powerful accessory and padded to Thorin's cell.

"Psst! Thorin!"

There was a sharp inhalation and a melody of clinking chains. Thorin, voice almost cracked, whispered in a heartbreakingly uncertain tone.

"Thorin. It's Bilbo! Talk to me, please?"

"I would not have you see me chained like an animal."

"Will you stop being so stubborn?" Bilbo hissed, politeness forgotten. "I've been looking high and low for you for several weeks! Show yourself at once, Thorin Oakenshield, else I shall-"

" _Weeks_? Aüle! We have been in this wicked place for _weeks_?!"

"I'm afraid so. Oh, Thorin, please let me see you. Please."

With a rolling sigh, Thorin took several steps forward. Bilbo could see in the pathetic torchlight that a black metal ring was locked around the poor dwarf's neck, a length of chain fastened to an iron ring in the middle of the floor. Thorin could move anywhere in the small cell he wished to, but it probably made sleeping awfully uncomfortable.

"Oh, Thorin. They put _that_ on you?"

The bitter disappointment in what he had thought to be a fair and noble, if haughty, race hurt Bilbo's heart. What else had the elves done to Thorin?

"Yes, burglar."

"I'm so sorry."

"You have naught to be sorry for."

"I was wrong about the elves. This is  _evil_. Does that hurt?"

"No, my burglar. Mahal! How did you manage to remain unseen?"

"My race are good at disappearing quickly if we need to." Bilbo said.

"Aye, it seems so. Have you found the others?"

"Yes. Fíli and Kíli are alright, but they're worried for you. Everyone is."

"I am fine." Thorin told him impatiently. "Bilbo, I... I need to get you all somewhere safe, anywhere but here, in fact. I can't bear knowing that my kin are stuck in this place."

"I'll keep following the Bearer of Keys."

Thorin nodded. "Good. Tell them that I... I hope they are doing well enough and that I'm proud of them."

"Yes, sir."

He was interrupted as he turned by Thorin growling. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I thought you wanted me to-?"

"Not now. Tell me, are you ill?"

"No. Bit tired, but.."

"You look like a breeze would send you flying." Thorin snapped. "I bet you could fit between the bars."

"You're exaggerating."

"I do not exaggerate. Master Baggins, I order you to rest. Find somewhere quiet and sleep. You are exhausted... oh don't deny it, for I know the signs! You will rest, is that understood?"

"Yes."

Thorin seemed satisfied with that answer. He told Bilbo that he'd found a small gap in the chain links and was in the process of attempting to manipulate it into opening up for him. Bilbo told him that the guards came but once every four hours. Perhaps escape would be reasonably simple?

"Possible, certainly." Thorin told him. "For tonight, I don't want you worrying about the escape. That will be my job. You should go now and find somewhere."

Thorin seemed back to his normal, assertive self. Bilbo smiled as he made his way back to the considerable warmth.

He'd missed their leader.


	33. An Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a plan. The family of Thorin's Company get reunited and the Bearer of Keys is followed.

 

 

"No."

"Thorin..."

"No."

Bilbo rubbed at his eyes, sighing heavily. "Thorin Oakenshield, if you don't stop being so stubborn, you may end up here for the rest of your life!"

"Burglar, I will not repeat myself. I will _never_ ask Thranduil for his help."

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak to the impossible Dwarven king, but footsteps coming close caught his ears. "Thorin, I.." He hated leaving him alone.

"Go," Thorin's voice was gentle. "T'is alright, I'll be fine."

He did, trying to smile at Thorin, and jammed the Ring on his finger when he was far enough away. He went to the kitchens, wondering if he could grab some food. Upon entering them,  it seemed impossible. Elves, some with red hair, some with brown, some with blonde, all wearing the same pale green tunics and white leggings, were darting around, preparing wondrous-smelling food. Steaming joints of juicy meat stood on silver trays, golden platters of golden bread rolls, ivory platters with sausage and bacon, marble bowls of boiled eggs, silver jugs of thick gravy, golden bowls of vegetables, crystal pots containing various seasonings and bronze jugs containing wine all stood on trolleys, waiting to be rolled out.   
There was a trolley near where he stood, holding those golden bread rolls and chicken legs. He quietly and quickly stepped over and grabbed several bread rolls and two of the chicken legs and turned, running to the alcove near the dungeons.

Food had never tasted so good. When one has been unable to eat very much for a long time, particularly if he has been taunted by the sights of food and has been walking about with hunger tearing at his belly, anything will taste delicious, just as long as it makes the hunger go.

Though Adad had been doing his best to keep him fed.

 He got to his feet, feeling much better for the food, and made his way to the cells. It seemed unusually quiet. He could normally hear his dwarf-father attempting to converse with his brother or Dwalin bellowing curses for the Elves, but tonight seemed quiet. Unnaturally quiet. He looked into Adad's cell and fear jolted through him. 

He wasn't there. 

He ran up and down the corridor, looking for them all, whispering their names, taking the Ring off and putting it back on again as though it would help, but it didn't.

All twelve Dwarves had disappeared. He checked three times and then ran, quickly and quietly as a hobbit could, to where Thorin was held, wondering if, by even a small chance, he knew where the others could be.  
  
"Cor, it's bloody _freezin'_ down 'ere!"  
  
Was that Nori?  
  
"Well, if you just swallowed your pride and cuddled up with Óri and I, you wouldn't be freezing, would you?"  
  
Dori and Óri too?  
  
"Well, if a certain giant 'adn't mocked me last time, maybe I might!"  
  
Dwalin was here?  
  
"I think that _might_ be what he meant by 'swallow your pride'."  
  
Balin?  
  
"I'd cuddle with you, if I could."  
  
Bofur?  
  
Hurrying on, he was confronted with the sight of them all, squished in family groups. Kíli spotted him first.  
  
"Mr. Boggins!"  
  
"Shh!" Bilbo warned, placing a finger to his lips.  
  
Kíli obeyed, copying his movement, but he looked so excited, Bilbo feared he might combust.  
  
"Burgl- _urk!"_    
  
Bilbo winced and went to the cell as Kíli disappeared.  
  
"Cursed thing!" Dwalin growled. "I vote we declare war on this place when we're free of it."  
  
"We have to escape first." Thorin said grimly. "How are you feeling, Bilbo? Any thoughts come to you during sleep?"  
  
"No," Bilbo admitted. "I feel I know where chambers of the Bearer of Keys is, but catching him as he retires to them is proving to be a great challenge."  
  
"I have no doubt," Thorin said. "Fíli, stop fiddling with the circle. You won't be able to break - _get that away from my neck!"_  
  
"Look at that," said Nori fondly. "Attempting assassinations already!"  
  
"No!" Fíli protested. "I was trying to see if I could cut through the metal with my knife."  
  
"Hmm. Well, thank you very much, but I fear you won't succeed. If you had a saw, perhaps it might work."  
  
Poor Thorin. Bilbo padded on, swiftly spotting his adad and dwarf-uncle and headed their way. The bars on the cell were wider, meaning he had less contact with both, but they managed to hang onto each other's hands well enough. At the bottom of each cell there was a small gap, presumably where bowls, plates and cups could be slid under.  
  
"Here, pundurith, eat this.."  
  
"Trust you."  
  
"You need meat, it makes you strong-"  
  
"'Ear that, Dori? Remember _that_ , next time you force leaves down Óri's throat!" Nori said.  
  
Accepting the thin sliver, Bilbo chewed the meat - duck! - and looked in confusion at the two pairs of dark eyes watching him. "What on earth are you doing here?"  
  
"I think the Elven princess might have something to do with it." Óin answered.  
  
"I assume you mean Legolas."  
  
"Aye, that's it."  
  
"Well, what did he do?"  
  
Óin shrugged. "I'm blessed if I know, but the Key-Holder kept telling us how fortunate we were that the prince managed to persuade his father. I don't know how, but it seems he's to blame."  
  
Glóin shook his head. "Hmph. Yes. I did see how unhappy you were when we were herded into this cell."  
  
Óin looked as though he was trying not to smile. "I could say the same for you!"

"You know," said Bilbo. "The Elven prince might have done us a favour without meaning to by putting you all together."

"We're not inviting him to Erebor and that's final."

"I wasn't going to suggest that, Thorin. Your people would throw a colossal fit, I have no doubt. No, having you all grouped together would make escape easier."

"Do you have any ideas?" Kíli asked.

"Well, I know that the Bearer of Keys has a big fondness for his king's wine. He often sneaks a cup. They're throwing a feast upstairs-"

"Fancy not inviting us!"

"-And," Bilbo went on, trying to ignore this interruption. "I think he _may_ try to sneak himself more than a cup tonight. Maybe if he gets drunk enough, he'll get careless and I'll be able to take his keys. The problem is, I don't know where we'll be able to hide ourselves, yet."

"That sounds a good plan." Fíli said. "This place is massive and we're not very big, so maybe we'll be able to find a place."

"The Elves have lived here for thousands of years or more," Dwalin said grimly. "They'd find us within hours. If we do escape these cells, we mustn't linger."

There was silence as they all considered what to do. Kíli nudged his uncle. In the dark of his eyes, Bilbo could see a golden flicker. "Light. Someone's coming."

Bilbo's heart sunk and he gripped his adad's hands tight before letting go.

"Stay safe, lad."

"I will." Bilbo looked back around and left, walking toward the shadows and slipping the Ring back on. In the fierce light of the fire, he could see the Elf. It was him, the Key-Bearer. He looked around , checking that all were secure and left, unknowingly leading an invisible hobbit with a half-formed plan growing in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last!!!! I had the WORST Writer's Block ever!!! Sorry for the long wait :( I'll try and make updates more frequent from now on :) Hope it was enjoyed!xx


	34. Open Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves are freed. A stranger is met and the Company lose the Orcs.

The Bearer of Keys went (unsurprisingly) back to the kitchens. From this wonderful room came sweet smells, of honey, berries, apples, fresh-baked wonders and when he went inside, he caught sight of the trolleys piled high with jellies of all colours standing on silver plates, fruit tarts, large cakes with powered sugar brushed over their surface on bronze platters, small cakes with thick, swirly icing spiraling upward on copper plates, cinnamon swirls on golden platters, bowls of fruits such as cherries, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, peaches and blackberries lying inside crystal bowls and giant  jugs of a deep-green glass containing dark liquids that Bilbo took to be some sort of dessert wine, judging by how greedily the Key-Bearer stared at them.

He sat down heavily, while Bilbo dared to steal some raspberries, knowing well that the Elf would soon be treating himself to a great deal of wine and the cook, who was grinning and holding up a bottle of black glass, would also be drinking his fill. He absent-mindedly looked around the kitchen, his eyes settling on some barrels. They looked quite big to him, they could probably squeeze two hobbits in there...or one Dwarf...

The cook filled several silver cups full to the brim with the ruby-red liquid. The Key-Bearer said his 'thank-you's and took his, drinking from it as though he had previously been dying of thirst.

"Good, isn't it?"

"Our king has good taste. At least in wine!"

The two shared a hearty laugh and focused more on the wine. They became quite dozy, but apparently, the wine wasn't to be missed and they drank until their eyes drooped shut and soft, gentle (highly unDwarven) snores issued from them. Bilbo quietly stepped over to the dozing Key-Bearer and cautiously took the usually jangling keys from the slim, dark leather belt.

* * *

 

"Fíli, wake up your brother and uncle! Quick!"

The golden-haired Dwarf might have been about to sleep himself, but he obeyed, nudging  Kíli and Thorin, both of whom grumbled at being awoken, but did so.

"Whadizzit, Bilbo?" 

Bilbo jangled the keys at the brunette who immediately became more alert at the new sound.  He found one small key and held it out as he passed the bunch to Fíli, whose bright blue eyes were wide in amazement. "Quickly, unlock  _that thing_ the Elves put around his neck and see if you can unlock the cell door..."

Fíli did, his strong hands shaking, and soon a small clicking sound came from the cell and Thorin inhaled deeply as though he'd not done so for some time.  Then the door swung open and Fíli handed him back the keys, staring around as did his brother and uncle, the three barely being able to believe their freedom.  
Bilbo went from cell to cell (nearly getting crushed by excited Dwarves on more than one occasion), freeing them all. He counted them, noting that all thirteen were with him and placed a finger to his lips.

"You must be  _very_ quiet." he whispered. 

"Hear that, Kí?" Fíli whispered.

Kíli rolled his eyes, but didn't retaliate, perhaps grasping the gravity of the situation. Beckoning them all on,  Bilbo led them from the passageway, upwards toward the kitchens, hoping that the Key-Bearer and cook were still sleeping.

* * *

 

They were. Bilbo turned to face them, clearing his throat.

"I know this isn't the ideal way of leaving this place, but it's the only way I can think of," he began.

"What is it?" Dori asked.

"I need you to get in the barrels. They're empty..or at least are now, with the two drunkards snoring away."

"Barrels?!" Bombur repeated.

"Shh!"

"But..but how are we supposed to fit?"

"You must try!"

"But..."

"For goodness' sake, please...thank you, Adad!"

 Glóin looked over the barrels, looking inside, giving them a little thump to test their strength. "They don't seem too fragile..."

"Glóin, cousin, do you remember when you were about twelve and thought it would be a good idea to pop yourself in a wooden box and roll down the hill in it?" Dwalin asked. "Because I do. It broke into a _hundred_ pieces! And _you_ nearly did, too!"

"I remember, yes. But this is safer and the worse that will happen is.." he trailed off. "Pundurith, what is the plan for these barrels?"

"To drop them in the river."

"The river? Hmm. Well, the worse that will happen-"

"Is drowning." Nori said.

"That won't happen." Thorin said, from where he had been watching. "If the lids are screwed on tight enough, they'll be fine. I've seen these barrels filled with wine bob along, I'm sure they'll be able to hold us." He nodded at the Company. "Get in. The worst that will happen is we'll get bumped and bruised, but I'm sure we'll survive it."

They got in fairly quickly. The brothers all stayed close to each other as they could, and all tried to help Bilbo get the lids on. He went to stand by the lever and counted the barrels, making sure that not one would be left behind and pulled on the lever with all his might. 

There was a lot of screaming (and a fair few curses). When the last barrel had disappeared, Bilbo realised, with a jolt, that he had not got one of his own. He bit his lip.

_"What in Yavanna's name am I supposed to do now?"_

He could hear footsteps coming. He didn't have much time. He edged forward and as the floor tilted, he held his breath and closed his eyes.

* * *

The water was icy, burning cold. He swam awkwardly toward the barrels which were slowly floating away, illuminated by the moon's bright light. He prayed the Elves would not see. He clung to the closest one, the inhabitant whispering, "Who's there?"

"It's Bilbo. Which one are you?"

"The handsome one."

"Hello, Kíli." Bilbo greeted, smiling slightly.

There was a little knock and a soft laugh. "Where are we, Mister Boggins?"

"We're just about to go over a sort of drop, but I don't think it's too h-AHHHHHH!"

He wasn't the only one who shrieked. The drop was unexpected. Still, the current was faster and it stole them away from the Elven Kingdom. The gate was coming close...and Bilbo could see figures moving...

"Everyone, keep quiet!"

They did and Bilbo stayed down, holding to the barrel as tightly as he could. He could see these were no Elves and he trembled at the familiar, pale sight of Azog. They were stealing toward the Elven Kingdom, their leader holding something familiar..something wooden..

 _'So that's what became of Thorin's shield...that's how they've been finding us!'_ Bilbo thought.

The current became faster, slipping them past the Orcs who didn't notice them. Bilbo thought of the Elves inside and prayed that none would be hurt. The Elves hadn't been pleasant, but he knew that they were not truly evil and he didn't wish for them to be harmed by the creatures.

A rock poked at the barrel and he gripped on as the water became more wild. It started bouncing them vigorously and Bilbo held onto Kíli's barrel, wondering at how quiet they all managed to keep. An archway came up, a bridge of sorts, with pointed bars raised above it...a gate. They all, one by one, slipped through, falling down another waterfall, but this did not matter, despite the longer fall and the second attack of cold water. They were free from the Elves, free from the Orcs and the water had to end somewhere and the scent would end with the water. The Orcs would not be able to find them for a good long while.

_They were free._

* * *

Dawn was approaching, a pinkish tinge glowing at the edge of a pale blue sky, when they at last washed up on a stony shore. Bilbo helped Kíli take his lid off and they went to pull the other barrels to shore and take the lids off them.

"Where are we?" Bilbo asked Balin as he helped him out of his barrel.

"Closer to Erebor than we were, that's for certain."

"How do we get there?"

"I don't know just yet," Balin answered. "Go and see your adad, laddie."

Bilbo did, sitting beside him. A heavy arm put itself around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Óin sat on his other side and they watched Bifur and Bofur struggle to remove Bombur from his barrel. Óin smiled softly and removed his mittens, squeezing the excess water from them. His adad and his adad's brother preoccupied, Bilbo slid his Ring from his waistcoat pocket into his trouser pocket and shrugged off his jacket, sluicing the water from it. Glóin patted his shoulder and went to stand, pulling his tunic off, briefly showing numerous scars on his back. Bilbo flinched. When his adad turned back around, Bilbo pretended to be busy with the jacket. He didn't quite dare to mention the scars. He folded up his jacket and removed his waistcoat, squeezing more water from the green material. The sun was coming up now, feeling pleasantly warm. It would be a warm day for late summer and he didn't wish to remove his shirt.

"Mahal, but you have grown thin."

"Adad, it's not that bad, for heaven's sake."

His adad was holding his hand, his drier tunic swinging from the other. Bilbo's hands were roughly half the size of Glóin's, but his fingers did look slimmer than they had been. He sighed softly. "Adad, I..."

"Someone's coming!" 

Glóin shoved his tunic back on as Bilbo hastily jammed his clothes back on. His adad gently pushed him behind himself, grabbing up a stick as a makeshift weapon. All the Dwarves seemed to be doing the same and Bilbo took out Sting.

This was no Elf, nor was he an Orc. This was a Man, towering above them, a large bow on his back, a quiver of arrows on one shoulder. He was lean and strong, dark hair cut to his jaw, keen dark eyes scanning them. 

"Who are you?"

Nobody answered. Thorin spoke, suspicion burning in his sky-blue eyes. "Where do you come from?"

"Answer _my_ question, Master Dwarf, and I'll answer yours."

"Travelling merchants," Balin answered, when Thorin didn't seem to know what to say. 

"I come from Lake Town."

"Lake Town?" Thorin repeated. 

"Aye, Lake Town. It is the home of the descendants of those who used to live in a city called Dale."

"Is it _near_ Dale?" Thorin asked.

"Somewhat. Lake Town is in the middle of the lake that was near Dale." Dark eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Our...associate required that we meet him in a lakeside town near Dale." Balin answered smoothly. "He didn't give a name, though."

"'Lakeside'?" The Man chuckled softly. "Well, it is lakeside, in a manner of speaking. I see your...'transport'," he gestured to the broken up barrels, "is no longer satisfactory."

"Are you going back to Lake Town?"

"Aye, but it'd raise questions to bring back thirteen Dwarves and one Dwarfling." The Man gave them a slightly knowing look. "I happen to know these barrels came from Mirkwood.."

"What of it?"

"The Elvenking will not thank me to bring back his prisoners to Lake Town. I have children, I can't afford to leave them fatherless."

"Some of _us_ might have children," Thorin said icily.

"We'll pay," Balin offered, ignoring Thorin's cold glares toward the bow-man. "All we have. Thranduil will not know it was you, and that's a promise."

The Man seemed to be wrestling with his thoughts. Finally he spoke. "Some of you have little ones?"

Thorin nodded.

The Man bowed his head. "I'll not be responsible for little ones missing their fathers. Bring the barrels with you."

"You'll help us?" Balin asked.

"Gods help me, yes, I will." The Man muttered, shaking his head, moving away, a barrel clutched in one calloused hand. "Don't forget the barrels now." 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I changed it to suit my own purpose. I didn't want Kíli shot, though I love Tauriel dearly. She'll still be in the Battle, so don't worry, you'll be seeing her! Then I wanted to get rid of the Orcs by sending them to attack Mirkwood. The water would wash away the scent and throw the Orcs off the trail until they hear about Erebor being retaken, so Azog would have to create a new plan for ending Durin's line.  
> The Elves don't know where Thorin and Company are, but as there are Orcs to kill, they won't worry too much until they've obliterated the army that Azog sent their way.  
> I love the fact that Bard is such a devoted father. I wanted it to show that he loves his own children so much that the thought of parting children from their fathers is something unthinkable for him.


	35. Something Like Home

Bilbo wasn't completely sure about Bard's barge. The Man, himself, seemed quite pleasant, but he said he needed to concentrate right now on a tricky part of steering, so Bilbo went back to his adad, who had lain his head in his brother's lap and was dozing off. Óin was drinking from his 'medicinal' flask, a hand stroking his brother's hair. He looked down to make sure his brother had his eyes closed and offered Bilbo the flask.

 _"No_ , nadad."

"What do you mean 'no'?" He must be _freezing_ , the poor little tyke!"

"I don't want him drunk, not on a boat."

"T'is a _barge_ , Master Dwarf," Bard called.

"I'm not having him drowning. I recall a winter's night many years ago, our father having this sort of conversation with our grandfather, because _he_ , in his _wisdom_ , had given you a sip of whisky. Luckily for all involved, you just got sleepy. Da was _livid_ with him."

"Well, if you sit up, the lad can sit between us." Óin said, apparently not having heard his brother's tale.

"What was your father like?" Bilbo asked, remembering the old scars he'd seen. "Did he get livid often?"

Glóin laughed. "Mahal, no! It was our _mother_ who had a temper."

"Your _mother?"_

"Yes, our mammy. But she never really got _angry_ with us, she was more likely to get angry with adults who knew better."

Curiosity stirred, Bilbo asked another question. "What did she look like?"

"Well," Óin said, "she was a very little woman. She had pale golden hair and big dark eyes and pale skin. She used to have many jeweled beads in her hair from when other lads tried to win her favour. She ended up selling them all when Erebor fell to support us. She only kept the one that our father gave her, a gold bead with a ruby in its centre. She wore red and black a lot, to match it, she said."

"The grandfather that gave Óin the whisky, was he _her_   father?"

"No," Glóin said, shaking his head. "We never knew _hers._ This was our father's father."

"What happened to hers?"

"Died." Glóin answered shortly.  He drew out a bag and threw it toward Balin. "Not much in there, I think someone," he looked at Nori, who smiled cheerily at him, "might have helped himself a while back!" He turned back to Bilbo, and his hobbit-son knew there would be no getting back on the subject of Óin and Glóin's grandparents. "How're you feeling?"

"A bit cool and tired, but I'll be alright."

"We're near Lake Town," Bard said. "In fact, I would ask you all to get into the barrels if you could."

 Glóin helped Bilbo up, steering him toward the barrels. "Think you'd be better off sharing one," he said, gently ruffling his curls. "Did yours break?"

Bilbo nodded, feeling too tired to explain that he had not had one. He accepted Óin's help into the barrel and shuffled over as Ori came to share it.

"Mind some company?"

"Not at all," Bilbo answered, crouching down at Bard's request. The lid was slotted back onto the barrel and they all remained quiet as the barge floated along, occasionally swerving and bumping. 

* * *

It wasn't easy to get into Bard's home. It was late morning and busy by the time they got near his home. He told them to break into pairs and not draw attention to themselves and gave them directions to go to their destinations. Bilbo was with Ori, with whom he'd shared a barrel and they arrived shortly after Dori, Nori, Bifur and Bofur. The others gradually joined them and they all grouped together, the youngest pushed toward the fireplace in which a small fire flickered, shooting sparks of gold up the chimney.

"We can't expect to stay here 'til Durin's Day," Dwalin whispered. "He'd never have it, I'm telling you now..."

"How long is it now until Durin's Day?" Kíli asked. 

"Eight days."

"Maybe there's a lord or lady of this town," Thorin suggested. "We can ask _him_ later on. For now, try and get some rest. He said he's getting water and towels for us. Once we're dried and rested..and clean, we'll go."

"Go where?"

Thorin glanced up at him. His lips pursed, as though he was battling with himself whether or not to ask about the leader of Lake Town now or to wait until better rested. Finally he spoke. "Is there a Lord of Lake Town?"

"No."

"Lady of Lake Town?"

"No."

"King, queen?"

"We don't have royalty. We have the Master of Lake Town."

"I'd like you to bring us to him when we're ready to go."

Now Bard's lips pursed. "He isn't the most friendly nor the wisest of Mankind,  Master Dwarf."

"Nonetheless, I wish you to bring us to him."

Bard said nothing for a short time, simply looking into Thorin's eyes as though searching for something before sighing heavily. "As you wish." He passed over a bunch of towels, all pale and in varying states of shabbiness. "There's a tub of hot water in our washroom. Should fit about two or three of you at a time."

* * *

He did not see the scars again that afternoon. Nor did he want to. He felt tired, achy and had a pounding headache and a burning, irritating sensation at the back of his throat. The room spun when he tried to stand and he stayed close to his adad, leaning thankfully against the Dwarf's strong shoulder.

 

Are you alright, my boy?"

Had he been a little more conscious, Bilbo would have been grinning and rolling his eyes a bit at being called 'my boy' as though he was a little faunt. But he was tired and felt weak and shaky. His chest burned and he felt like his lungs weren't getting enough air. He 'mmm'ed non-commitedly and burrowed underneath the heavy arm, wanting to be closer to his adad. Big, warm hands lifted him closer, further toward the safety of his dwarf-father.

"You look pale," Óin told him, gently tipping his chin up, making tired, green eyes to meet sharp, black ones. "You also seem wheezy..."

Perhaps it was the concerned dark eyes boring into his. Maybe it was the long day that had been had. Possibly it was because of the horrible achy tiredness that thudded through the weary hobbit. 

Whatever the reason, it was at this question that all turned black.


	36. The Hands of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes up, the sons of Gróin make a discovery and vile medicines are made (and drunk).

When he opened his eyes, it was to see a pair of dark blue eyes peering into his green ones. "'ri," he managed to wheeze out before burning coughs took over, shaking his tired and achy body. "Ohh." He moaned miserably. "Vhere's by abab?"  
  
"I'll get him for you now." Ori said, having somehow understood what Bilbo had slurred.   
  
Waiting for his dwarf-father to return, Bilbo looked up around the room. Cosy. Warm. He would've mistaken it for a smial in the Shire had it not been for the strange rectangular door that Menfolk favoured over sensible circular ones.   
  
It didn't look like Bard's house at all.   
  
The door crashed open, revealing his adad, his red hair looking absolutely huge, like a lion's mane. Bilbo could only imagine that he'd had all knots and tangles rather vigorously brushed out. All the same, he wanted to be sure.   
  
"Vhab de 'ell habbeb do your 'air?"  
  
"Yours doesn't look neat either, my lad," Glóin said. "Can't find the hair clasps to keep it together nicely... Ruddy Elves!"  
  
Bilbo wanted to laugh, but even smiling jarred his poor head and he groaned softly. His adad's expression softened and he went to him and hugged him gently. Then he carefully sat him up and lifted him onto a hip.   
  
"Abab, vhab're you boin'?  
  
His adad said nothing, and began gently rubbing his back. Bilbo relaxed as the gentle paw soothingly stroked and patted his aching back. He lay his head on the Dwarf's shoulder and felt better as the gentle movements continued.   
Then he was being put down and sat upon his dwarf-father's lap. He glimpsed a grey, intricately-braided beard and gentle, black eyes. He cuddled into his adad's thick red beard.   
  
"When did you first feel ill, laddie?"  
  
"Avoub am 'ouh abo."  
  
"An hour ago?" Óin repeated, frowning.   
  
"Lad, you've been unconscious for three."  
  
"Hab'mt."  
  
"Have."  
  
"Bilbo," said Óin, apparently eager to get his answer, "When did you first feel ill?"  
  
"Ob de darge."  
  
"And you wanted to give him whiskey," Adad mutters.   
  
"Bloody glad I didn't! I don't want whatever he's got."  
  
"Neber do I!" Bilbo snaps, but this triggers coughing that seemed to split his throat open. Adad firmly patted his back.   
  
"Did you feel ill before then?" Óin asked.  
  
"Mmm. Ib Birdwood, I velt tired, 'n weak a lod."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
He didn't know which brother asked and he snuggled into his adad before tiredly answering. "Bibn'd ead eberybay."  
  
"What?"  
  
It was only at their horrified faces that he realised his mistake. "Ub... I bib! I duby bib! "  
  
"Bilbo..."  
  
"Bell, ib bas'b by vault! De Elbs were ebrybere! You shoulb gib ib a dry! Ib wab a wubber I bibm't ged gaub!"  
  
"By Mahal..."  
  
Óin put a hand on his brother's wrist. "You can't scold him for recklessness. Not when he's ill."  
  
"Like you never did," Glóin muttered.   
  
Óin grinned. "He'll be fine, nadadith. In a week, he'll be good as new!" The healer stood, and rummaged through his satchel and found a bottle made of purple glass, a pale liquid sloshing about inside. "Their apothecary has good supplies. This potion should help for the time being."  
  
"Dob id daze goob?"  
  
"Better than your uncle's cooking." Glóin said.   
  
"Says the Dwarf who, but near a century ago, used to snaffle third helpings of supper every night."  
  
"I was a growing lad."  
  
"Hmm." Óin looked sad briefly. "You were." He put the medicine on the bedside table. "A spoonful will be enough. Once every twelfth hour. I'll find you a spoon."  
  
"Abab?"   
  
Glóin looked at Bilbo. He was frowning, more from worry than annoyance, it seemed. "Hmm?"  
  
"Bear ah be?"  
  
"Thorin met with the Master of Lake Town and he went and found us accommodations."  
  
"Bears Dard?"  
  
"With his family."   
  
"Oh." Bilbo tried to turn himself, tried to get close to his adad. "Abab?" To his surprise, Glóin was grinning. "Vhab's vubby?"  
  
"I'm being cruel," his adad said. "I shouldn't laugh, but Gimli used to call me ' Abab' when he was a wee baby learning to talk!" He chuckled, and hugged the little hobbit tighter.   
"'Ou are dein' cool!" Bilbo accused, unsuccessfully trying not to grin. "Been Abab!"  
  
"What're you doing to that poor lad?" Óin asked, entering the room with a small steel spoon held in one mittened hand. 

* * *

  
  
  
As much as Bilbo loved his Dwarven uncle, he really did make the most vile medicines.   
  
'If his cooking tastes as bad as his medicine, I feel sorry for Adad!' Bilbo thought often after taking it.   
  
Most of the week was spent cocooned in blankets, securely held by either his adad or dwarf-uncle. He slept a lot, unsurprising, given how little he'd managed to sleep in Mirkwood.   
Óin's prediction of the cold disappearing in a week proved to be false. It lasted five-and-a-half days. The achy feeling in the back of his nose, the headaches all left. And, to his relief, his words became easier to understand.   
  
All that remained was the coughing. All day he'd cough, all night he'd cough. He was even awoken by his own coughing! He didn't feel ill, but Óin thought otherwise and still made him drink the medicine.   
  
"No," Bilbo said one evening. "It doesn't help! I think you're doing this to punish me." With this, he picked up his pillow and covered his face.   
  
"I am not! Get that pillow off your face."  
  
"It's my face and I'll do what I want with it!"  
  
"Gim... Bilbo! I won't be repeating myself. Please, put it down and take the medicine. I brought you honey to quell the nasty taste."  
  
Bilbo uncovered his eyes. "You did? For me?"  
  
Óin put a small jar of the sweet, amber-coloured honey on the bedside table. "They only had pickles in the house, would you believe! Took a while to find honey." He grinned. "Yes, for you! My brother would be devastated if I brought him honey to eat. Still, I think he's getting over the fear. He doesn't get teary-eyed at the scent anymore."  
  
Bilbo smiled. "I had hoped to give him a jar for his name-day!"  
  
"Fíli did that once. It was the day before or after, something like that. He wasn't alone in his little trick, his mother's handwriting was on this little note attached to the jar. My brother took one look at it and got this look in his eye. The next thing I knew, he was feeding the poor bugger the entire jar! Fíli ate three quarters of it and as a result, he too, had a terribly aching tummy. But you know something strange?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"He loved it even more after that. My brother's little joke didn't quite go to plan."  
  
Bilbo uncovered his mouth. He let Óin give him the medicine and accepted the tiny honey jar and the little spoon that went with it. "Did you get angry with him?"  
  
Óin huffed a laugh. "No point! He'd fight back if he so much as thought I was angry with him. However," Óin looked around, as though to ensure his brother could not hear him. "If I implied that I was disappointed or, worst of all, sad with whatever mischief he'd committed, he couldn't give apologies quick enough!"  
  
Bilbo stared at him. "That's awful!"  
  
"Awful clever!" Óin corrected. "It always worked. When you have a stubborn little brother to care for, you can't be too picky with how you get him to see sense."  
  
"Did it really always work?"  
  
"Like a dream. It's not in his nature to be able to sadden or disappoint people he loves without feeling remorse."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"The same, but for a time I... I ignored my remorse. I had long hours and would often break promises of whole days together when offered extra hours. I thought I was doing what was best for him, by earning. But he needed me more than money. For a time, we were absurdly distant. We didn't have a connection at all."  
  
"And now?"  
  
Óin looked down at him. His expression was sad, but his eyes seemed warm. "Now we strive to ensure that we never grow so distant again."


	37. The Weather Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something occurs of which Glóin's younger self would be thrilled. His present self, however, is horrified.

The sky outside was blue and cloudless and there were thick dustings of sparkling white snow on the windowsills. Bilbo had never seen such glorious snowfall before. He desperately wanted, no needed, to go outside and touch it for himself. He waited until he heard his dwarf-father's footsteps, put on the pleading expression that Kíli had taught him and waited for his adad to enter the room, willing himself not to cough.   
  
"I'd like to go outside, please?"  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea just yet, my pundurith."  
  
"But, Adad, I've never seen such snow before! Please, just for an hour?"  
  
Kíli's lessons had apparently paid off. Usually his adad was adamant that he was to not exert himself at all, but now he smiled, hugged him close and then went, promising to ask.   
  
He returned a short while later with a steaming red mug. Óin had given up on the medicine sometime ago and was now giving him hot lemon drinks with a spoonful of the sweet honey mixed in. Bilbo couldn't help smiling as the mug was swiftly placed down on the bedside table   
  
"It might be better to wait for the cough to go."  
  
"But that's going to take ages!"  
  
"It won't. Three days and you can skip about in the snow to your little heart's content."  
  
_"Skip about?!"_ Bilbo crossed his arms and glared as fiercely as he could up at his adad. _"Skip about?!_ I know _you_ might not be able to believe it, but I am not a four-year- old fauntling."  
  
"You are right," Glóin said solemnly. "I am not able to believe it. I might just keel over in shock."  
  
"You don't understand how horrifically boring this is!" Bilbo accused.   
  
In that moment, he could've sworn that Glóin hid a smirk. But his adad didn't laugh, instead he climbed onto the bed and lifted him against the broad, comfortable chest. Despite his intentions of remaining cross with the Dwarf, Bilbo couldn't help but snuggle into him.   
  
"Well, I can see you have your wits about you. Let us talk then, little one."  
  
"Talk?"  
  
"Yes." Glóin paused, gently rubbing his back. "Kíli said that he heard you while we were exiting Mirkwood."  
  
"D-did he?" Oh, no. Hadn't he been barrel-less at the time of escape?   
  
"Mmm. Said it sounded like you were holding onto his barrel. Now... How could you have been holding onto _his_ barrel while safely inside your own?"  
  
"He can't have been in his right mind."  
  
"So I thought! Until Fíli _swore_ he'd heard it too."  
  
"He must've had water in his ears!"  
  
"And Thorin said that you looked remarkably sodden for a hobbit that had been tucked away inside his own barrel."  
  
"Thorin... Do you really believe it?"  
  
"Believe what?"  
  
"You know very well what."  
  
"That my little pundurith told a big lie?"  
  
"I never lied, exactly..."  
  
"Did you tell me the truth?"  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
"But?"  
  
"Well, you must be able to see why I didn't say! I bet you never told Óin when you got yourself injured."  
  
"I _did!"_ Quietly, but not quietly enough, Glóin added; "When I couldn't hide it any longer."  
  
"See!"  
  
"However," the Dwarf went on, "I most _certainly_ told him the truth! He'd hit the roof even nowadays if I dared lie to him."  
  
"Didn't Iie." Bilbo muttered. "I never _said_ I had a barrel."  
  
"But you let us believe that you had a safe journey."  
  
"I survived it, didn't I?"  
  
Glóin sighed a little. Bilbo could have sworn he saw those dark eyes roll at him. "You're missing the point," the Dwarf said, not unkindly. "You must think about how you might put yourself in danger!"  
  
"Like you did?"  
  
There was a small pause. Glóin frowned, looking confused. "What do you mean by that? I never put myself in such danger as you did!"  
  
"Well, how did you get the cuts?"  
  
Still looking bewildered, the Dwarf asked; "What cuts?"  
  
"On your back."  
  
The silence that followed this question was deafening. Not one word was spoken and dark eyes that had been looking into green now looked down.   
He seemingly hadn't been meant to ask about those cuts, nor mention them at all. "I'm sorry." He half-whispered. "Sorry, Adad."  
  
"Never mind." Glóin answered, rather shortly. "Still, I'd prefer not to discuss them, if you don't mind."  
  
Bilbo nodded his head. He lay his head on the thick beard covering the sturdy chest. If he listened close enough, he could just hear the soft and steady thumping of the Dwarf's heart. Glóin gently stroked his coppery-golden curls back. He clearly found them interesting, how they never went straight.

There was a sudden and loud thudding at the door. "Oi, gerrout here! Your duty is relieved, I'm here now!"  
  
Glóin looked terrified at the thought. "No! Go away, Nori!"  
  
"Óin's orders."  
  
"Crafty old bugger." Glóin muttered as he entangled himself from his hobbit-son. "Get in here, then!"  
  
Nori came in, bringing a scent that was oddly reminiscent of the purple flowers that Belladonna had planted and tended to in the Baggins' garden. In a hand was a cloth wrapped around something small, thick and round. The thief turned his brilliant green eyes on the redhead who had yet to leave.   
  
"Glóin, I have here a honey cake and I _swear_ I will force-feed it to you if you don't get out of it!"  
  
"You are sadistic!" Glóin retorted, but he ruffled Bilbo's curls and lightly shoved Nori as though to show that he was not afraid of the threat. Nori grinned and shut the door after him before sitting on the bed beside Bilbo.   
  
"I smell...lavender."  
  
"Yeah, went on a little outing to the apothecary with your dear uncle. The minute he saw it, I was in there whether I wanted to or not!"  
  
"Did you want?"  
  
Nori shrugged. "Wasn't too bad actually. Saw these little sachets of herbs. They smelled nice, so I picked one up for you. And then we went to a bakery."  
  
"Adad won't let me go outside."  
  
"In fairness, you do look pale," Nori remarked. "Come on, cheer up! The cold will disappear in no time!"   
  
Bilbo internally sighed. It seemed everyone, every _Dwarf_ , rather, thought that he knew best when it came to an ill hobbit. He lay back and his eye caught the sight of the window.   
  
And that was when it hit him. He stretched out, emitting a loud yawn.   
  
"That was a fairly colossal yawn for such a little 'un."  
  
"Mm. Do you think you could get me a cuppa, Nori? Please?"  
  
The Dwarf shot him a grin and walked off, closing the door with a quiet click. Bilbo crept from his bed, softly treading toward the window... 

* * *

  
  
"He's gone!"  
  
"What?!" Twelve voices chorused.  
  
_"He,_ " repeated Nori, as though using a great deal of patience, _"is gone._ Went out his window."  
  
"You're joking!" Óin said flatly. "You have to be... "  
  
"On my honour as a thief, I am not." Nori answered.   
  
There was a silence and then Óin began laughing. He laughed so hard that he could scarcely breathe.   
  
"What's funny?" Kíli asked confusedly. "Glóin's going to be _livid!"_  
  
"You don't understand!" Óin said between cackles. "Even now, with a son of his own, he thinks that it was not such a bad thing to clamber from the window to meet with people. Now he'll know what I felt every time he did it. He'll understand why I shouted at him when I caught him leaving or going. Oh, _please_ let me tell him!"  
  
"Rather you than me." Nori said.   
  
"Do you think we should be looking for him?" Fíli queried.   
  
"He won't have gone far. But you might as well, if you've a mind to." Óin answered.  
  
"I meant Glóin."  
  
Óin paused. "Hmm. Perhaps not. Oh, imagine if he should meet him on his little jaunt!" With this, the healer began cackling again.  
  
"I don't think Bilbo would like it." Kíli said. "Glóin might shout at him."  
  
As though hearing his name, the door was pushed open and the ax-bearer came in. He looked around at them, his gaze falling on Nori.   
  
"You flower fairy! Fancy leaving him all alone."  
  
Nori shot Óin an apologetic look. Then, before anyone could stop him, he announced; "Bilbo escaped through the window."

* * *

  
  
Glóin barely heard his brother's howl of anguish. "The... _what? How?!"_  
  
"I dunno, but he's gone now."  
  
He must have looked wretched indeed, for Óin swallowed his disappointment in whatever he was disappointed in and patted his arm.   
"We'll find him, eh? Get your gloves on and we'll go out."  
  
"I always knew you would never be able to resist his kicked dog face." Nori said once the redhead had left.   
  
"You are wicked." Óin told him. "I shall _never_ forgive you for telling him. What was it you said? 'Rather you than me'! And then you went and told him!"  
  
"He called me a flower fairy!"  
  
"Well, you smell like one. Lavender suits you!" Óin grinned at him again and looked at the others. "Is anyone else coming to look for Bilbo?"  
  
"Think he'll have gone far?"  
  
"A little hobbit with a bad cold? No, he'll be reasonably close," Glóin answered as he came back to them. "Who's coming?"

* * *

  
  
"Look, there he is!"  
  
"Where?"  
  
_"There!"_  
  
Glancing to where his dark-haired sibling pointed, Fíli saw that Kíli was right. Recognising the copper-gold hair of their hobbit, he strode over quickly, Kíli running ahead, calling Bilbo's name. He looked startled and stopped, watching them as they caught up to him.   
  
"Did you _really_ climb out the window?" Kíli asked breathlessly.   
  
"Um....Perhaps?"  
  
Fíli grinned at him. "Like adad, like idúnoy!"  
  
"What on Arda does that mean?"  
  
"Just that you are like your adad!" Kíli answered, chuckling.   
  
Emerald green eyes blinked. "He doesn't know that I went out, does he?"  
  
Fíli stopped smiling and Kíli nodded. "I can't believe you went out the window!" The brunette said, eyes wide with wonder. "Didn't you slip?"  
  
"Nearly, and quite a few times! How he managed it with his sizes..."  
  
"Last time _he_ did it, he was about several inches taller than you and was much littler than he is now." Fíli informed him. "Gods, I thought he'd faint when Nori told him what you'd did. Óin found it hilarious!"  
  
"Will Adad be angry?"  
  
Fíli cleared his throat and began tugging at one of his braids. "I couldn't say," the golden-haired prince offered.   
  
"I can!" Kíli declared, and, before his brother could stop him, began regaling the poor hobbit with increasingly terrifying explanations of how angered his dwarf-father would be when he next saw him.  
  
"Ignore him," Fíli said, quickly steering Bilbo away from the brunette who seemed to think his fond memories of the various times Gimli managed to get in scrapes was helping. "Don't even listen!"

* * *

 


	38. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks are had, memories are shared. Snow is thrown.

"Where  _were_  you?"

"For goodness' sake, I hardly left!"

Fíli's barely concealed expression of disagreement caused Glóin to take Bilbo's statement with a heavy pinch of salt. "Indeed! Why, then, did you leave at all if you barely left?"

"Because I was going  _mad_  in that room!"

"So, you took a trip out that poxy little window?!"

"You did!"

"Not in the snow and the ice! I can't believe you didn't fall. What if you had fallen?"

Bilbo looked away. "I don't know."

"You  _do_  know. You know as well as I do. You could've broken your neck!"

There was a small silence, broken by Kíli unhelpfully adding, "I don't get why you're annoyed with him."

"By Mahal! Kíli, one day, you or Fíli might have a child. You'll be unhappy when they decided to do dangerous things!"

_"When?!"_

"It's inevitable that a child sharing your blood would get himself into mischief!"

"You should know about that." Fíli murmured.

"What are you trying to say?"

Fíli simply grinned.

* * *

"I cannot believe it."

They were back in that room and his adad had just finished putting the covers over him.

"Adad..."

Glóin frowned at him. "I know I've said it a lot, but I can't! What possessed you to do it?"

"You inspired me."

_"Bilbo!"_

It was the first time Glóin had raised his voice in anything like anger to him. Bilbo shrank back.

"I'm sorry."

His dwarf-father took a deep breath. "No. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm sorry, laddie." He moved closer to him, gently cupping his hand. Bilbo shuffled closer. He felt tired, not exhausted or sleepy, but something less than those two things.

"Stay with me." He murmured. A broad hand gently moved through his curls. His hair had grown again. Now it reached past his shoulders. The family braid was growing.

"Of course."

"Adad?"

"Hmm?"

"I didn't  _mean_  to climb out the window."

Glóin, surprisingly, chuckled. "Neither did I the first time."

"What did your father say?"

"My father was dead. By Mahal, I wouldn't be able to sit down now if he was around during those days."

"What did your mother say?"

"She was dead too."

"Oh." Bilbo had forgotten. "Well, what did your brother say?"

"By the time Óin found out about my illicit little ventures, I'd done it  _numerous_  times. In fact, he found out because he caught me as I was returning one night. I even tried to escape through the window right in front of him, just to avoid the row I knew would come."

"Was he angry?"

"He was scared. And with good reason."

His adad gently moved him over and climbed next to him. He wrapped him in the woolen patchwork cover and the sheets and held him close. Bilbo felt utterly safe in those burly arms. Safe enough to relax and ask one last question.

"Was he nice?"

In the warm golden candlelight, he could see a soft smile. "Much as I love to say otherwise, my nadad was nice. He's always been a good brother to me."

"Good," whispered Bilbo. His eyelids grew heavy and he yawned, burrowing into the warm, solid chest of his adad. Of their own accord, his eyes closed, his breathing slowed and he fell asleep.

* * *

Hobbit-son asleep, Glóin carefully untangled himself and went to the window.

It was tiny. How on earth had Bilbo fit? True, he wasn't a large hobbit, but this window was miniscule.

"You're a bit  _big_  to go outside via this route." Óin said, opening the door and entering. He closed it again and smiled at him.

"Nadad! Look at this."

"Your window was barely bigger." Óin commented.

"I'm sorry."

"Shh." Óin said, gently patting his shoulder. "It's the past now and you haven't done it for nearly a century. Besides, I forgave you long ago. Go to bed, nadadith."

The sun was gone. Outside was dark, bright silvery stars shining and gleaming. A sliver of moon shone in the sky.

"I don't want him to face the dragon."

"I know. But Smaug is old. Think of Adad whilst he was dying. That is likely how Smaug is now. Dragons don't age like Dwarves."

"You know this?"

"I hope this and you should too. Otherwise you'll be a wreck by the time we get to Erebor. And him." Óin tucked a few stray strands of auburn back from his forehead.

"I don't want him to be afraid."

"I know. There's nothing worse than seeing a loved one caught in the throes of fear."

"This you know."

"This I know." Óin agreed. "But you know, he's lucky. Hobbits are an oddly fortunate people. And they're a brave, yet sensible race. Quiet, too. He's already perfectly equipped for this job. Just trust him. Trust Gandalf, wherever he is. He wouldn't have picked the lad if he held any doubt."

Glóin nodded. "Yes. You're right, brother."

Óin smiled softly. "Of course. Now, get to bed, nadadith. He's not the only one who looks exhausted."

* * *

When Bilbo woke, he felt better. There was no persistent tickle in his throat and his chest felt better. He rolled over, trying to remove himself from his cocoon.

"Mmmnnngg."

"Morning to you, too, Adad." Bilbo greeted cheerily.

"Tha's no' wha' I said."

"Are you awake?"

 _"Please_  go to sleep."

"No. It's time for snowball fights."

"Wake up your uncle. He loves snowball fights. His favourite."

Bilbo rather doubted this, but he looked at the thickening snow on the windowsill and then grinned. Jumping out of bed, he went to the window, opening it an inch or two.  
Cupping the cold, white snow, he made two snowballs and stood by the door. He took aim.

"YEEEK!" Óin shot up, rubbing his face. He slapped his brother's shoulder. "You bugger! Why is it, whenever there's snow, you turn into a great child?"

Bilbo threw the second one as his adad sat up. It exploded at the back of his head, causing a great shiver and a decidedly unpleasant curse word. Two beady, dark eyes turned their gaze on him.

Bilbo smiled . "Are you awake yet?"

To his brother, Óin murmured. "Kill him."

Grinning as his adad drew closer, Bilbo lifted the latch, but found, to his surprise, that the door wouldn't open. The latch was stubborn and wouldn't lift!

"I can scarcely believe it." Glóin said, shaking his head. "My sweet pundurith, doing something so wicked!"

"Adad!"

"An eye for an eye!" Óin mused.

"Brother! I'm surprised by your intelligence. An eye for an eye, indeed. What shall we do, bury this lad in the snow?"

"That's not a bad idea, not at all!"

Bilbo was laughing too hard to protest. He knew too well that neither would do such a terrible thing and allowed his adad to grab him up into a hug.

"You've been taking lessons from your da." Óin lightly accused, once his hobbit-nephew had been taken to him.

"I didn't! I thought up the idea by myself."

"Wonderful. Gimli will love you."

"Guess what?"

"What?" asked his adad, who was rebraiding the growing plait in his curls.

"I feel better today."

"Hmm." both Dwarves murmured.

"Why are you 'hmm'ing? I do feel better."

"I daresay. Otherwise, you'd have been too poorly to concoct such mischief early in the morning!" Óin said, grinning widely. "Why don't you see if Fíli and Kíli are awake?"

"Only yesterday, you barely left my side and now you're packing me off!" Bilbo teased them.

Óin surveyed him with a dark eye. "Well," he said, as though with great seriousness. "I suppose  _one_  more day in bed wouldn't do any harm..."

"I'm going!" Bilbo said. "I'm not staying in this bed, thank you very much!" With that, he jumped to the floor and headed to pick up his jacket. It was falling apart, the struggles of the journey ripping the deep scarlet fabric open.

"Here." Óin threw him his own cloak. It was a dark colour, grey bordering on black with a silver clasp. "Keep yourself warm now."

"You know," Bilbo distinctly heard his adad say, "You've been issuing me with the same threats since I first dared get ill while under your care. It's not right, brother!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, right? Yeesh, it took a long time! I've been a little off in recent weeks and could barely get up the motivation to write :( I'm sorry, guys! I totally intend on finishing this thing and I'm sorry to have left you all hanging for so long! If you want, give the Nadadel series a try or give me prompts for Bilbo and his adad :) xx


	39. A Short Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets to spend time with the two princes...and becomes a partner in crime.

"Ahh, I love the snow!"

"Is that why you stole your brother's scarf?"

Kíli grinned brightly. "He's got more insulation than me."

"Insulation? That's a big word for you, Kíli!" Fíli teased. He tucked the dangling ends of the scarf into his brother's coat. "Nah, just the little ones tend to feel the cold more than their elders. Though, you should see our mother every winter, swearing she doesn't feel so much as a shiver of cold, as she brushes the snow away from the house. Poor Uncle isn't allowed to help!"

"I am not a little one!" Kíli told his brother. "I'm 77 years old. Not a little one."

Fíli smirked in an incorrigible fashion.

"Though," said Kíli, "I do feel the cold easier than Fíli does. And Mam does feel the cold quite bad. I genuinely believe Dwalin does, and your adad too, but they'll never admit it."

"I'm not surprised." Bilbo said. "You'd mock them."

"I wouldn't!" Kíli defended himself. "Fíli definitely would, but I wouldn't."

_'He would.'_ Fíli mouthed to Bilbo. "So," the blonde said in a normal voice, the little smile staying upon his youthful face. "I see you weren't locked in that room forever."

"You can laugh. It was a close thing, I'm sure of it!"

"Uncle would _love_ that." Kíli said rather dreamily, a grinning smile growing at the corners of his mouth. "I half wish that did happen, just to have seen the look on his face. He'd be livid!"

"Wonderful. Two angry Dwarves battling it out. I can't imagine anything more peaceful."

"Does Smaug sound more peaceful?" Fíli queried.

"Compared to those two, he probably is."

"You're being really unfair." Kíli told them. His laughter punctuating this statement made it less damning. "I'd rather face them. Mam would protect me from the worst, but nothing can shield you from a dragon except the stone of Erebor."

"The stone is cool to the touch," Fíli explained. "It takes a long time to warm. That's how so many survived the sack of Erebor. And why some didn't survive. The dragon caught them as they cautiously stepped away from their safety."

"Mam found a rock when she was set down after the dragon attack. She kept it and she polished it and carved into it. She wanted us come with her to replace it when we reclaim Erebor." Kíli said. He brought from his pocket a black stone, shining dully in the wintery sunlight. "She also wants us to return to her. And we want to. It would've been great if she'd come. But somebody has to look after the people back home."

"It is a shame, though," Fíli murmured, tracing the runes with his fingers. "She could scare the dragon away easily."

"Are all Dwarf-women stubborn and frightening?"

"Yes." Kíli answered bluntly. "What's more, they get scarier with age."

"It hasn't stopped you from demanding a hug every morning from her." Fíli said, his smile turning into a grin.

"That's what mams do." Kíli insisted. "They give you hugs and kiss your brow."

Fíli nodded in agreement. "Grandmothers do that, too."

"Do you have a grandmother?" Bilbo asked in some surprise. Certainly, Thorin had never mentioned his mother.

"Sort of. Mam's mother died before we were born. Da's mother died shortly after Fíli was born." Kíli answered. "We have Amara."

"Who is Amara?"

Smiling rather bashfully, Fíli explained; "She's actually Gim's nana. We stole her, completely by accident, well before he was even thought of."

"I keep forgetting how much older you are than him."

Fíli tsked loudly. "Only twenty years. That's nothing. And don't you dare say about how young he is in front of him. He'll go off in a huge rant about how he's the very opposite of young and won't believe anything different."

"Well, twenty years isn't a short time." Bilbo pointed out. "What is Amara to you? A great aunt?"

"No." Kíli said. "We don't really share blood with her. Her husband has an incredibly big heart and after Da's father died, he looked after him and helped his amad out."

"Ah, I see. What's his name?"

"Alrik. You'd love him. He's the nicest person you'd ever meet."

"You didn't meet Gimli's other grandfather?"

Fíli snorted and Kíli said, grinning; "First we're young, and now you seem to think we're 97 years of age. At least."

"No, we never met him." Fíli said. "And meeting him wasn't something you'd be like to forget. Did you know he was nearly six feet in height?"

"Well... Adad said he was tall, but I always thought that, because he was young when his father died, he was exaggerating."

"Uncle wasn't." Fíli said, gently pulling his brother who was watching a redheaded woman of the race of men with a rather dreamy expression. "He hasn't grown an inch since he was 83 and he swears that he still remembers feeling utterly puny whenever Gróin stood."

"Dwarves aren't tall" Bilbo said pointedly, staring at Fíli who stood only a foot taller than he was.

"He was." Fíli insisted. "We've seen the crypts he and Lady Sannith were buried in and _his is twice as long as hers._ They don't make coffins as large as that unless it's strictly necessary."

"Twice as-? I'll believe that only when I see it." Bilbo said.

"Fine. We'll show you, won't we, Kí?"

"I'm not going with Gim in tow. Last time, he watered his hands with his water-skin to make them cold and clammy and grabbed my face. I thought he was a corpse risen from the dead!"

Fíli nodded, looking solemn, though Bilbo noticed the corner of his lips flicked upwards in amusement. He stopped in his tracks and turned back, holding around their shoulders to take them with him. "Best get you back before Glóin sends a troop searching for you."

"Unfortunately, I don't think you exaggerate his protectiveness."

"Blame Gandalf, wherever he is. He brought you into the situation."

"Ah I think you misunderstand. I never said I _minded_ the situation."

Both lads smiled at this.

"To be honest," Kíli said, with a thoughtful expression ."I'm surprised you liked him so well. He's not actually as grouchy as he looks or, sometimes, acts, but people don't usually stick around long enough to know it."

"It gets people to leave you alone if you're 4"2, built of muscle and have a heavy scowl." Bilbo mused. "Goodness, if I could be intimidating to get people to go away and leave me in peace, I'd do it without a second thought."

"I wouldn't say he's made of _muscle_. He's not exactly young anymore.."

"Nadadith!" Fíli whispered, shooting furtive glances at the houses they drew closer. "Hush! Use what little brains you were born with unless you want Glóin to hear and give us a lecture for cheek."

Kíli rolled his dark eyes and focused them on a fruit stall selling rosy, shiny red, crispy apples. His eyes caught Bilbo's, the dark brown holding a spark of mischief that seemed to ask,'fancy some fun?'

Bilbo stopped Fíli by holding onto his arm. "I might examine the apples a minute."

"Please yourselves. Just come in afterwards." Fíli gave the innocent apples a nasty look and went back in the house. His barrel had smelt of apples, so he claimed, and he now refused to have anything to do with them. The smell of apples while being whirled around in a barrel had caused him to despise wha had once been one of his favourite treats. He still didn't know how he would tell his mother, who had promised to make him his favourite apple pie when they returned from Erebor.

Bilbo looked at Kíli, who now wore a grin. "I know what you're thinking."

"Yeah, and I know you _approve_ of what I'm thinking. Come on,quick!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never stop loving the idea of those two pranking Fíli with apples. It's a crime they didn't put Fíli's hatred of apples in the movie. Imagine the fun and games we could have had! Ah,well :)  
> I haven't been myself recently, hence the slow updating cycle. But I don't intend to give up on this story. I want to know what happens in it.
> 
> So, here it is :) I felt bad for neglecting Fíli and Kíli, both of whom I adore, so,here they are :D xx
> 
> I hope it was enjoyed!


	40. Neutral

Fíli woke up just knowing that something was going on. He looked at his brother who seemed to be on the verge of waking up and lay back, breathing deeply through his nose. Then he frowned. Could he smell apples?  
  
No. Absolutely not. Something so terrible couldn't be happening to him. Not apples. He turned his head and jolted as he caught sight of a bright green object sitting innocently on his bedside table. He rolled his eyes, clearly this was his brother's idea of a so-amusing joke. He picked the apple up and considered dropping it onto his brother's stomach but then shook his head. No, he couldn't do that to his sibling, even if he had done something so wicked. He put it on the bedside table, hiding it behind a pile of books, and rolled over to face his brother who was now yawning and mumbling sleepily, clearly wanting to go back to sleep.  
"Nadadith?"  
  
"Um?"  
  
"You're awful."  
  
"Thank you." Kíli murmured. He opened his eyes and looked toward him, blinking tiredly. "Why am I awful?"  
  
"You left a certain green fruit on my bedside table."  
  
"No."  
  
"Yes." Fíli insisted, half-smiling. He loved it when his brother was sleepy. It reminded him of simpler (quite long ago) times when his days mainly consisted of watching him as a newborn baby. He pulled him closer until he was securely pressed to his chest and buried his face into the top of his brother's head. 77 years had come and gone, but he doubted he'd ever gotten over the joy of being an elder brother like the adults had said he would. Kíli's arms wrapped themselves around him and he grumbled softly as he snuggled closer to his brother's warmth. 'Adult Dwarf, my foot," Fíli thought, smirking to himself. 'He's only grown taller and stronger and older. Other than that, he's the same Kí he was to begin with.'  
  
"Wassime?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Whass 'ime?" Kíli repeated.  
  
"What?" Fíli repeated.  
  
"What. Is. The. Time?" Kíli asked, yawning loudly.  
  
"Oh. Um..." Fíli squinted at the window. The curtains revealed a long, thin slice of sky which was vaguely golden. "Dunno. Dawn-ish?"  
  
"Ugh!!" Kíli buried his face into the crook of his brother's shoulder and clung around Fíli's waist. "Keep still for me, please. I want to sleep."  
  
"I _should_ make sure you stay very much awake, little brother."  
  
"No!"  
  
"It would serve you right. Yes. How do you explain the apple sitting on my bedside table?"  
  
"I thought it would make a lovely snack for you."  
  
"Mmhm." Fíli replied. He rested his chin on top of Kíli's head, just as he liked to do. It took the sting away from the fact that his little brother was, in fact, taller than him. He often missed the days when he wasn't mistaken for being _Kíli's_ little brother. But, when they were snuggled up like this, he could pretend that he was bigger than him. As he should be.  
Even if the youngers of Durin's line were taller than their elders. That being said, Amad wasn't bigger than Uncle Thorin.  
  
It was all very strange.  
  
Somehow, Fíli couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something apple-y about his brother. He could smell the, now sickening, scent of apple and it made him wrinkle his nose. "Kí?"  
  
"Nnmmm?" Kíli answered.  
  
"I smell apples."  
  
"Turn off your nose then."  
  
"Haha." Fíli sat up, gently pushing him away. "Sleep by yourself, Kí. You know I can't stand apples after those barrels."  
  
Kíli, the devil who would _not_ be snuck any cookies tonight, smirked and went to sleep. In Fíli's opinion, he could be very sweet, but far too wicked when he wanted to be. Still, he could not bear the scent of apple any longer and he got up, lightly ruffling his brother's hair to no effect.

* * *

  
Miles away, in a dawny forest, stood a triumphant king. Well, he was supposed to be triumphant, but he had watched 40 of his guardsmen die fighting a plague of orcs. All were dead now...But one. He could vaguely hear the guttural roars of the Defiler. He ignored them, finished cleaning his sword off the black blood and rose from his seat on his bed to cross the soft floor to his balcony. The sun's golden light was thickly filtered. Thranduil had oft enjoyed the warmth of the sun, but he preferred not to linger long in the bright heat.  
He wanted to blame the group of Dwarves who, somehow, had escaped. But there was a niggling voice in the back of his mind which sounded like that of his long-dead wife telling him that it was unlikely there was any alliance between those creatures.  
  
He was so lost in his thoughts that he was surprised to hear Legolas clearing his throat. He hadn't heard him enter and told him so.  
  
"Forgive me, Adar."  
  
"Nothing to forgive. What troubles you?"  
  
"Why do you keep the Defiler?"  
  
Thranduil smiled. "I'm glad someone had the nerve to ask. That is a good question, _iôn_. Why?"  
  
Legolas watched him patiently.  
  
"Those Dwarves. Oakenshield was among them, was he not? He's the king of his people now that his forefathers are gone."  
  
"Yes, Adar, I know."  
  
"There was a great battle some time ago. In Moria."  
  
Legolas' mouth tightened. Thranduil made haste to soften his expression and extended a hand to him. All those centuries ago when Durin's line had begun growing and expanding in Erebor it had been simple for the Dwarf-children to make allies with the Elves that had visited. They hadn't been friends, exactly, but they had been strong allies. One refusal from both sides had ended that alliance, but while Thranduil had ignored the past, Legolas could not.  
  
The battle of Moria had grieved Legolas deeply. Less than those who fought it, but it had saddened him to know that one of the young lords whom he had watched grow from boy to man and the youngest prince had perished.  
  
Legolas took his hand, looking less rigid than he had. Thranduil placed his other hand over his son's. "The Defiler was the one who was the leader of the pack. He took Thrór's head and it was under his order that the lives of Frerin and Fundin were lost."  
  
"Are we going to kill him?"  
  
"No." Thranduil looked into the sky blue eyes of his only son. "Thorin Oakenshield will."

* * *

"No," said Fíli, shaking his head and looking anywhere but the amber depths of the apple juice in the jug Bilbo offered him, seemingly innocently. "No thank you. Is this your revenge for my subtle remark yesterday?"

_"Subtle?_ You were as subtle as a _brick_ , Fíli."

 "I can only apologise. And blame my uncle."

"Oh, it's _his_ fault, is it?"

"It _is!_ You see, he too can be as subtle as a brick. I think you _might_ have noticed sometimes he speaks his mind quite bluntly.."

The corner of Bilbo's mouth twitched. "I might have noticed something along these lines occasionally."

"So, really, you should be offering _him_ apples instead," Fíli went on and Bilbo noticed the corners of his mouth were lifting into a smile under the golden braids of his long moustache. 

"He'd think I was mad," the hobbit said. "He'd go to Adad and say 'What's _he_ up to?'"

"After living for seventy seven years with my brother, he wouldn't think anything of it!" Fíli shook his head, but there was a distinct smile and the hobbit knew the Dwarf wouldn't have his brother any other way. "Kíli says he won't be tormenting me any more. What about you?"

"It's not so much fun now you know." Bilbo said.

"That is a shame," said Fíli in an unapologetic tone. "Come on, Kíli wants to help teach you to spar while Dwalin's gone."

"Why while Dwalin's gone?" Bilbo asked, picking up Sting from where the sword (whatever anyone else said about it) stood against the wall.

"Because if he watches somebody else other than himself teach someone to spar, he  _cannot_ help taking over. It's not because he's trying to be insulting, he just can't stop himself."

"Wasn't it your uncle who taught you to fight?"

"They took turns. Mostly, though, our mother taught us. She had the most time out of the three of them, you see. But she'd never been in battle, so she taught us the basic things while Dwalin and Uncle taught us the things they'd learned in their fights and battles."

"They must have been in hundreds..Have they taught you everything?"

"It seems like it," said Fíli, picking up his twin swords and sheathing them around his waist. "But Dwalin always says a warrior can never stop learning. There's always something knew for them to learn."


	41. Distance

"Next time," his adad said. "You should sprinkle apple scent on his pillow."

"I'm amazed you could be so wicked, Adad." Bilbo said, starting to grin. "I thought Óin was exaggerating!"

"He is prone." Glóin said bluntly. "That's what happens when you get old."

 _"You_ exaggerate."

His adad blinked at him. "I _what?"_

"You do! You say he's terrifying."

"I thought I said to you that exaggeration only happens when you get _old!"_

"Yes, you did." Bilbo said, acting as though he did not see the rather pointed look aimed at his person.

"Charming." Glóin half-growled when it became apparent that he would not get a retraction. "Anyway, the old sod _is_ terrifying. When I was a lad-"

"When you were a lad, Óin used to lock you outside in the snow without a coat. Yes, I know. Oddly enough, he denied it when I asked him."

"You _asked_ him?"

"Yes." Bilbo said, trying not to giggle at the panicked look on his Dwarf-father's features. "He also denied ever beating you with a stick, although he did say he wished he'd had the sense."

Glóin huffed a laugh at this. "Sense is not something he was burdened with, to put it lightly!"

 _"Nor_ were _you."_

In an instant, all Bilbo could see was a sea of auburn as his adad turned his head. "Oh, hello, nadad. I didn't see you!"

"Nor did you hear me, you daft sod! Well, I _was_ going to tell you dinner is ready, but now I think I'll just eat yours as well as mine."

"You don't need the extra weight." Bilbo distinctly heard his adad mutter. He buried his face into Glóin's beard, which felt rather odd without all the steel hair beads he'd once worn, and hid any laughter as well as he could. He felt the large, warm hand gently rub his back.

"Do you want your dinner or not?" Óin asked.

"It's unbelievable. When I was in my sixties, you were constantly force-feeding me. _Now_ you threaten me to go to bed hungry."

"I can get away with it now," Óin said. "Besides, I had to make sure you had food. You were _terrible_. One hour without a snack and you resembled a wee skeleton!"

"Exaggeration." Glóin whispered to Bilbo.

"-Which has nothing to do with age, you cheeky bampot! Now, hurry up downstairs."

"Oh," said Glóin, getting up. "The perks of the conveniently deaf!"

"What?"

"You most certainly heard. Oh, you don't hear when your poor frazzled brother _begs_ you to change his baby's napkin, but you hear other things, you sneaky old goat!"

Óin looked at Bilbo. "Imagine this as a teenager," the medic said, gesturing to his sibling.

"Revenge. That's what it's about. Just because he thinks I turned him grey."

"You, I and the whole of Ered Luin, even babies in their mother's wombs, know that _you_ are the reason I turned grey at 102!"

"You were _born_ grey." Glóin said, not even bothering to mutter. In fact, Bilbo could see him smiling.

"That is charming, that really is. I sacrificed my best years for you and this is how you repay me."

"I gave you nephews and nieces. What greater repayment could there be?"

Óin didn't correct him by saying there were no nieces. At least the hobbit was sure there weren't. He imagined a fiery haired dwarrowdam with a beard just like his adad's and then wondered how it was that, as children were so precious, there were not more children belonging to his adad by nature. The subject had been mentioned but once and the answer - that they hadn't yearned for more children - had never quite rung true. He could see it in his adad's eyes that having more children would have been nice, _preferred_ , even.  
He remembered asking his mama why he had no siblings. He had been a small Fauntling with too much time and energy. It had been a rainy day, one of those days where the rain falls heavily and the fire needs to be lit. She had smiled. "It was never a case of not wanting, it was a case of not getting." Belladonna had answered, quite truthfully. Bungo, despite his dislike of "fairy stories" had spun a yarn about the Faunt Blossom not blooming every time they'd gone to visit it.

He didn't mention the subject to his adad, though. Even now, some thirty years later, he could remember the look of longing regret on his mother's face, the look of almost shame on his father's. The most important thing was that his parents, both by blood and bond, loved and cared for their children.

* * *

"No, no, _no._ I won't hear of it."

"Dori-"

"Nori, _shut up!"_

"But I _want_ to go!"

"It's only across from our room, Dori."

"Nori, I'm _warning_ you!"

Nori gave Ori an apologetic look. "I tried!"

"I'm sorry, but those two could set a _river_ aflame. No, you can't spend the night alone with them."

"Pundurith will be there." Glóin offered at Ori's particularly desperate glance.

"Are you _mad?"_ Dori exclaimed. "He'll come back a _ragamuffin!"_

"He won't come back a ragamuffin. Come on, Dori. The lads are good at heart and they're not 100% reckless."

Dori heaved a great sigh. "Fine. But if there's so much as a _hair_ out of place, I'm holding _you_ responsible."

"Don't get scruffy." Glóin advised Ori as Dori left to get his nightly chamomile.

"When have I _ever_ gotten scruffy?" Ori asked.

"After we got out those barrels. You should have seen yourself."

"That's not fair!" Ori protested, though he grinned sheepishly. "I'd just traveled down a raging river! _You_ should have seen _yourself!"_

"Near ended my life, it did. It's not fun to nearly suffocate on your own beard, Ori. I wouldn't recommend it."

"Nori had that problem too." Ori said.

"I can imagine. If he was half his height, his beard would reach the floor."

"'ow am I s'posed to test _that?"_ Nori asked, absent-mindedly twirling his vaguely auburn braids around his long fingers.

"Sit cross-legged." Fíli suggested. "Roughly half the height, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. So," Nori glanced at Fíli. "What are your plans for your little playdate tonight?"

"We're not toddlers, Nori." Ori pointed out.

"Tell Dori that."

"Well, I have tried."

"You can't tell 'im with words, you 'ave to tell 'im with deeds. For example, _I_ showed 'im by getting arrested when I was 73."

"I remember." Ori said. "Ama woke me with her shouting and you woke me with your crying."

"It's a wise Dwarf who fears 'is mother." Nori retorted. Behind him, Bofur nodded in agreement. Bilbo had learned some time ago that the mother of him and Bombur was a formidable dwarrowdam with snow white hair and a frightening ability to hear a whisper from a mile away. 'You wouldn't think it,' Bofur said more than once. 'She's cuddly looking and normally is very sweet, but Mahal forbid you insult her cooking or dare to nibble a cookie before she sets them out to sell.'

Kíli said rather wistfully; "If Mam was here, _she'd_ have sorted out the orcs for us. And the Elves too."

"I know," Dwalin said. "But Smaug took more than enough women and girls with him the day he arrived. He's not taking one more than necessary. Anyway, we're here now and there's still a week and a half to go. Thorin's going to sort out travelling with the Master of Lake Town tomorrow. So, you two, make sure you get enough sleep tonight."

"You're not going with him?" Fíli asked.

"No. Balin's going with him instead. He's better suited to things like that than I am." Dwalin grinned at them. "Have fun."

"'Have fun' you say." muttered Kíli. "At least it's an evening meeting."

"Which means you'll have to make utterly sure you don't fall asleep!" Dwalin smirked.

"Well, if I can remain awake through your lectures, I'm sure this will be easy!"

Dwalin shook his head, causing his dark tresses to fall down his broad back and stretched. "Right. I'm off to bed. Don't you dare make too much noise!"

"According to him," Fíli said as Dwalin thudded upstairs. "A falling feather makes too much noise."

"Only when he's awake." Kíli pointed out. "Come on, Ori, before Dori changes his mind and drags you back to the room."

"He's probably brushing his hair and braiding it for bed." Ori told him, but he obediently went after the younger prince, being followed by the elder prince and the burglar.

* * *

"Fíli, do you _promise_ he isn't making me into a ragamuffin?"

"Ori, I swear it." Fíli repeated for the sixth time. "Upon my honour, he is not making you into a ragamuffin. He braids _my_ hair, doesn't he?"

Ori looked thoughtful and didn't say anything more about it.

"Is it hard to braid hair?" Bilbo asked, watching Kíli's clever fingers manipulate the auburn into neat braids.

"Depends. Fine hair can escape braids quite well, you know." Fíli answered. "Luckily, it grows less delicate as we age."

Bilbo traced his own braid that had been woven into his coppery-golden curls. It felt oddly smooth to him, almost sleek. "Even for Dwarf ladies?"

"Hmm. I wouldn't say they have _delicate_ hair, but it stays softer than that of the menfolk." Kíli said, clipping the last of the braids into place. "That's done, Ori!"

"Can I try braiding yours?"

"It won't last very long." Kíli warned him, but he sat obediently still. Heeding the younger prince's words, Ori created a rather simple braid and then sat back.

"When do Dwarves start plaiting their hair?" Bilbo asked.

"As soon as there's enough to braid. Usually, the parents braid their baby's hair for the first time when he or she is a year old. By then it's about enough for two small braids." Fíli said.

"Oh. I thought it might have been part of a coming of age ceremony."

"No. That's too long to wait." Kíli tossed back his dark tresses, smoothing over them with his hand as though deflecting attention from them. Through several locks, Bilbo could see the outlines of a tiny braid. He wondered what it was like to have long flowing hair like that. He supposed it was a handy thing to have in winter months.

"Nori tried to convince me that getting a body piercing was a coming of age ritual." Ori reminisced. "He was just helping me pick a, er, place when Dori found us."

"Mahal's name! What did Dori have to say about that?" Fíli asked, almost succeeding in his noble endeavour to hide a grin.

"Well, I don't know. He just stared at us until we changed our minds."

Fíli nodded as though in agreement. Kíli looked curiously at Ori. "Where did you want to get pierced?"

"In my belly button."

_"Why?"_

"Because Nori said it was safer."

"Ah, how sweet!" said Kíli, despite the fact his own brother often coerced him into picking safer routes - most of the time at least.

"I think it's sweet you get to go have dinner with that frog of a master." Ori said, chuckling to himself.

"Don't be rude to frogs!" Kíli said, grinning. "It'll be something interesting to do, anyway. Why don't you come with us?"

"No, thank you. Even with Thorin and Dwalin there, I don't think I'd feel safe. He's got cruel eyes."

"So do orcs."

"Not like his." Ori said.

"We'll be headed to Erebor in a few days," Bilbo reminded him. "Thorin seems impatient to go, especially now we're so close."

Their king had seemed almost on edge lately. It wasn't uncommon to see him staring silently into space, his blue eyes dark in thought. Sometimes he took the golden bead from his raven locks and stared at that too as if it was the last remnant of treasure from the trove which lay beneath the dragon - Which, Bilbo often thought, it probably was.

"He's been waiting a long time." Fíli pointed out. "More than twice as long as I've been alive. There's a lot on his mind, but he'll get better one we reclaim it."

While the golden-haired Dwarf spoke, the hobbit couldn't help but notice that the way he spoke was like he was telling a story he had no way to confirm or deny the truth of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last!! Okay, I'm probably going to hurry this along now. So, next chapter will see the return to Erebor which should be a nice *long* chapter . And maybe Smaug too. Maybe, I'm not too sure just yet, but I'll try and get the big scaly guy in there :) Thank you all so much for your patience and I hope you all enjoyed it!xx


	42. Progress

No air. No air. He couldn't breathe. His throat was closed and he could feel the slowness deep within his chest of his heart quietening its rapid beats.   
  
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe...  
  
"Wake up!"   
  
In an instant, the air rushed to his lungs, almost burning. He bolted upright, gulping in the air, trembling and coughing as his body reminded itself that it was alive and well and free of any danger. He felt a hand on his elbow and grasped it tightly, leaning into his brother.   
  
"You're alright," Óin said, squeezing his hand tightly. "Just one of your bad dreams. You were wheezing in your sleep something dreadful!"  
  
"Did it wake you?"  
  
"A bit. Don't worry about that now. Have you been sleeping well recently?"  
  
He shrugged. "I can if I know there's light."  
  
"Yes, I did notice that you've been keeping the oil lamp on of late. Flame wasn't as bright this night."  
  
"I can't take it to Erebor, Óin. I have to get rid of this need sooner rather than later."  
  
"One source of light is not so different from the other. Moonlight is bright. So is starlight. Use those."  
  
"What if it's a cloudy night?"  
  
"The town will be lit. There's always light, you know."  
  
"Am I weak?"  
  
"No. Being afraid is no weakness. It's natural, you know that."  
  
"I just.. The cells.."  
  
"I know, I know." Óin smoothed his hair carefully. "Fortunately, the pointy ears have never been an overtly vicious race, even if they are disloyal. And rude, at that."  
  
This made Glóin nod his head, suddenly recalling a sentence spoken by one of the blond Elves. "One of them," he said indignantly. "One of them thought Neoma was you! He did, he actually asked if she was my brother."  
  
"What nonsense. I'm far prettier than she is!"  
  
Glóin started laughing at him.   
  
"I see you agree." Óin pretended to snap.   
  
"I'll agree when I'm blind and senile!"  
  
"I sacrificed my golden years for you," the elder brother complained. "Why is this my thanks?"

* * *

  
  
Kíli had discovered that being a prince could be twice as boring as repeated history and geography lessons. He eyed the tiny window that allowed in the golden light from the setting sun, wondering if anyone would even notice if he squirreled his way out of it.  
  
The Master was still talking. On and on he went, his wormlike lips opening and closing. He cast a glance at Fíli and could see in his eyes that his brother knew exactly what he was thinking. Fíli offered him a subtle smile.   
  
'Hold on, little brother. I'm sure he'll run out of steam eventually!'  
  
Kíli certainly hoped he would. He watched Thorin pay close attention, not showing any boredom or irritation. In a corner, the slimy, pale thin Man who followed the Master like an obsessed dog leered at them. He had cruel eyes and a smirking mouth and Kíli sincerely hoped that they would soon see the last of him - and soon.   
  
"-And so, we ended up here and my grandfather gained swift control of the living townsfolk. Now we thrive!" The Master waved his beefy arms and Kíli noticed for the first time the velveteen tunic, the golden embroidery, the sheer size of the Man. He thought of the townsfolk, all clad in rough, cheap material, no details, no finery, all thin and underfed. What a bloody liar.  
  
However, there was a new distraction in the form of food. Long, strange fish swum in a brothlike spicy sauce, freshly baked bread, creamy butter, soft cheese, pastries filled with meat, some raw pink fish with dry crackers and wooden mugs of mulled wine came out to greet them.   
  
'Yes,' thought Kíli. 'Anyone can see that you're thriving, you great beast!'  
  
The wine was sweet and mild as well as warm and the long fish tasted oddly like chicken. Kíli felt sorry for Thorin who was facing the Master, as the Man picked up the long fish with his great, sausage like fingers and slurped them down.   
  
His poor uncle.   
  
As soon as this course was finished, another was brought out. Boiled potatoes lay in a buttery sauce, oval, pearly shells held slimy creatures, seasoned chicken legs were stacked upon plates, elongated sausages were curled up in pans, honeyed vegetables filled the air with their sweet scent, a large tureen of a chicken broth arrived, tiny crisped fishes lay on large plates, their tiny mouths open in an eternal scream and Kíli wondered if the poor things had been cooked alive. His resolve to try one was diminished at this thought and completely disappeared as the Master grabbed a handful from the plate with his grubby hand and devoured them.   
  
One good thing was that the Master seemed averse to talking while eating.   
  
Dessert arrived in the form of a large blackberry pie, cream, aromatic date loaf and poached pears.  
  
"So," said the Master, placing his hands on his impressive belly. "Not to seem unwelcoming, but when do you plan on going to slay this dragon of yours?"  
  
"We plan on leaving as soon as possible. We have overstayed our welcome."  
  
"No, no, not at all." the Master said, though Kíli noticed a glint of relief in his eyes. "Will you be needing anything?"  
  
Thorin paused. Asking for things was not in his nature. He had earned the things he needed or wished for and it had and perhaps,always, felt unnatural to him to ask. Nonetheless, he looked the Man in the eye. "We have need of weapons. Some provisions. We still have cram, but that won't last us long."  
  
"Cram? What on earth is cram?"  
  
Of course he wouldn't know.   
  
"It's a type of cracker." Fíli said, rather coolly for him. "Lasts awhile, but we have little of it left from our travelling."  
  
"Oh, crackers." the Master muttered. "Well, dragon slayers can't live off crackers. We'll sort something out. Well, I'll loan you some weapons on the condition they are returned..And paid for."  
  
"That's renting, not loaning." Fíli said.   
  
"Same thing."  
  
Fíli opened his mouth to disagree. Thorin cleared his throat and Fíli swallowed whatever he had been about to say and quietened, looking down at the tablecloth.  
  
"You don't look much like these ones, do you?" the Master said.   
  
"My eldest sister-son takes after my brother in law." Thorin told him, sounding much more serious than he had before. "The firstborn children in our family often take after their fathers the most."  
  
"Is it not true, then, that fertile Dwarf girls are wed off to many husbands?"  
  
"No." Thorin answered. "We respect our womenfolk enough to allow them to make their own choice. We do not wed them off."  
  
"Mmhm." the Master answered, without much belief. "Well, then, we'll get you sent on your way as soon as possible. A few days at the most." He said nothing else after this. It was quite clear they were now dismissed. 

* * *

  
  
Thorin hadn't expected Fíli to be very vocal after the visit to the Master of Lake Town. His golden haired nephew was quite aware of where the similarities ended, particularly with him and his nadadith. Having them pointed out always annoyed him, especially by people like that Man who Thorin liked as much as his eldest nephew did.   
  
It was when he began scowling to himself that Thorin looked toward him. "Fíli."  
  
His nephew went to him and Thorin hooked an arm around his tense shoulders, giving him a one armed hug. With the other arm, he rubbed his back in circles until he started relaxing. "Why does it bother you so that you have different hair? Your brother has different coloured eyes to you and I and your mother, but it doesn't seem to bother him. And we both know when things bother him."  
  
"Kíli looks like you. And don't deny it. You know it's true."  
  
Thorin nodded. "It's time to tell you something I've known for the past 42 years, sweetling. You have your uncle's face. Your uncle Frerin's exact features."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really. You look very much like him." Thorin answered, hiding a smile as his nephew puffed up in pride at this news. "Not all brothers look precisely the same. He even had different colours to me. He had hazel eyes like our mother and brown hair like yours."  
  
"Does Amad look like Frerin?"  
  
"No. She looks like our mother used to. Are all your questions answered now, my insatiably curious little lion? Or are there more?"  
  
"There's a few hundred more."  
  
Thorin regarded him with only a sparkle in his eye. "I thought you'd already asked the hundreds of questions you needed answers to when you were a child."  
  
Fíli grinned broadly at him. "No, I was saving the worst."  
  
"You already asked the worst the day Dáin visited. You were six years old, the very image of a sweet, angelic toddler, Kíli was a baby who hadn't yet learned to talk and you looked up at Dáin and very loudly asked 'Are you my nadadith's real daddy?'"  
  
Kíli hurled a pillow at Fíli's head. "Fíli!!"  
  
"I didn't know!! He has dark eyes and you do, too, so I thought.. I was a toddler!!" Fíli desperately defended himself. "No toddler ever knew everything!"  
  
"I'm surprised you didn't ask Dwalin that very same thing." Kíli said, beginning to smirk now his irritation had been forgotten.   
  
Fíli gave Thorin a cross look. "Look what you've caused, Uncle."  
  
Unfortunately for Fíli, Thorin was laughing too much to truly mind.


	43. Edge

"We leave the day after tomorrow."  
There was a tightness to Thorin's jaw and a look of steel in his blue eyes that made them gleam coldly. Nobody said anything to this news, aside from a nod to show that they had heard and understood. He took a deep breath. "Pack lightly. They are sending provisions with us, so don't weight your bags with food, except for your tins of cram." Thorin brushed a hand through his raven hair. "It won't take us long to reach the kingdom. A few days."  
  
That didn't seem long at all. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and silently, only the sound of occasional questions to the other about what might be needed breaking the silence. They weren't morose or forlorn, but the news made this quest suddenly so real. They would either walk away with lives and wealth or they would die horribly in the attempt. More than once, Bilbo could feel his adad's eyes staring at the back of his curly head.  
  
But there was more than just their own lives at stake for them all. All had younger kin with them. Little wonder it had turned quiet and contemplative.  
Thorin didn't say as much, but it was obvious that he hoped that they would be able to leave sooner rather than later. It was a sentiment that was shared by their group, despite the general worry. Now it was tantalisingly close, the threat of fire and call of glory calling louder than ever before. 

* * *

  
  
After a rather melancholy day in, sorting out supplies and feverishly pondering the task ahead, their beds were welcome sights. Óin bid goodnight to Bifur and went to join his brother. The low beds were close together, closer than they had been in recent years. He smiled at the sight of the halfling all curled up on his brother's chest. Now he bloody well knew what it was like to not be able to move due to a soft weight having made itself comfy and refusing to shift.  
  
Said brother was not smiling, so he kept this thought to himself. He checked the furry-foot was actually asleep and then, quickly in the Dwarven tongue, asked him how he was.  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"We always knew the risks." His brother mumbled.  
  
"We are his family and we'll protect him. You know that." He looked even more anxious. Óin managed to wedge himself beside him with enough space to ensure he didn't fall back suddenly (He could just picture the fury if he went and broke his neck before the final journey!) and rubbed his brother's arm. "We all know what's waiting for us. We all know how to respond to anything that may go wrong. Trust us."  
  
"I _do."_  
  
Unconvinced by the sullen tone, Óin held back a sigh. "You've been having your bad dreams again. Are they," he tried to soften his tone, "the same dreams?"  
  
"They're the only troubling dreams that awaken me."  
  
"They are only dreams. The one who caused them crumbled into dust long ago."  
  
"How would you know?"  
  
Óin answers this with the same answer he's replied to his brother's more contemplative questions for the past ninety five years. "I'm a healer."  
  
"That's not a real answer!" Glóin protests, as he has done for the past ninety five years.  
  
"It is! Who knows more about bones than me?"  
  
"Butchers. Hunters. Grave robbers-"  
  
"Yes, _thank you_ , brother!" Óin hmphed a little. Grave robbers indeed! "Do you trust me?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I?"  
  
"Oh, just _little_ things like locking you outdoors in the winter without a coat, knocking seven bells out of you with a branch.. Things like that."  
  
He actually smiled. "Ah."  
  
"You're a sod, you are. At least our father had the decency, not to mention the sense, to wait until his brother was dead before saying ridiculously terrible and blatantly untrue things about him!"  
  
"I'm not waiting that long!" Glóin said.  
  
Óin held back the retort - that it wasn't so long, quite possibly. He'd gotten to the progress of cheering him up and he was buggered if he was going back to square one. "Fine, torment the one who always was so kind to you, who kept you fed and watered and loved. I suppose this is the fate of all elder brothers. We get brushed aside and treated with derision." Óin only had to wait a few seconds for the hasty assurances that this was not the case (he knew that) and that it wouldn't happen again (this he wasn't so sure of) and to get an apology (which he fully believed and accepted).  
  
Sometimes it was almost too easy

* * *

  
  
"You're right quiet on those bearded feet of yours." Nori remarked.  
  
"They're _meant_ to be quiet," Bilbo said. "So we can get past people we don't like, mostly."  
  
Nori eyed his feet contemplatively."'ow they haven't got cut up during the journey, I'll never know."  
  
"They're tough. Tougher than even you Dwarves!"  
  
"Oh, yeah?"  
  
Bilbo grinned at him. "You don't have to believe me."  
  
"I'd believe it with proof. If you trod on a stray dagger in Erebor, you'd be incinerated in seconds if you started yelling. Either that or you'd scare the prick away."  
  
"Nori, I've stepped on _broken glass_ and got no more than a light scratch for my trouble. In fact, if I _did_ step on a dagger, I would be walking so slowly and stepping so carefully that I would know it was there."  
  
"Mmm," mumbled the unconvinced Dwarf. "Hmm."  
  
"Nori, do you know what a fusspot is?"  
  
"Yeah," said Nori. "It's got silver 'air, wears plum colours and answers to the name Dori."  
  
Despite himself, Bilbo started laughing. "Look,"he said, desperately trying to regain control of himself and not look like a chortling idiot. "Nothing will happen, you silly Dwarf. I've had these feet for nearly forty years, so you can rest assured that I'll be just fine."  
  
"Would you _consider-?"_  
  
"No."  
  
"You don't even know what I was going to ask!" Nori loudly complained.  
  
"You were going to ask if I'd wear _those,"_ Bilbo pointed at Nori's boots. "Those horrible, constricting, foot crushing, smelly, loud, heavy, complicated things!"  
  
"They're lovely an' comfy." Nori said stoutly.  
  
"No, they're not. They're _awful_. You can keep them, Nori." Bilbo stubbornly declared and he would hear nothing else about it, leaving Nori to change the subject, which he did, to tales of his finest heists.  
  
However, much later on, he found himself watching his adad's old boots. He knew that Dwarves had rather large feet, rather like their hands, almost Hobbit sized. They had new clothes for the new journey tomorrow, new boots for the Dwarrows. He cautiously approached his adad's old boots. They certainly looked like they'd been through a lot,they were scuffed and torn and marked. Nonetheless, he carefully edged his toes into one. It was tight and eventually his foot found its way to the bottom of the boot, feeling rough velveteen material. His pinky toe had plenty of room, but his big toe was squashed painfully.  
  
Why Dwarves willingly wore these contraptions, he'd never know.  
  
This thought was pushed to the back of his mind from the arrival of a new problem.  
  
His foot was stuck.  
  
He pulled, he yanked, he tried kicking it off, but nothing would remove the stupid thing from his foot.  
  
He didn't hear the door open, but he saw the shadow behind him and recognised the black-haired Dwarf.  
  
"Hello, Bifur."  
  
To his credit, Bifur didn't laugh (out loud). Instead, he knelt, took the booted foot, took out a pocket knife and very, very carefully, began cutting the boot from his foot. He showed him the sole which showed a slope and pointed at his feet, silently explaining what Bilbo suddenly realised with a quiet groan of shame.  
  
He'd put the damn thing on the wrong way.  
  
_"Please_ don't tell anyone." Bilbo begged Bifur.  
  
Bifur shook his head, but pointed at the slightly throbbing foot and then at him as though to say 'Be careful!'.  
  
Bilbo could only nod in agreement. 

* * *

  
  
"It must have self destructed in relief at not having your foot in it any more," Óin said unhelpfully.  
  
"I remember a friend of mine who sold exploding shoes to enemies of his clients." Nori said reminiscently. "'Ow many enemies do you have?"  
  
"Why are you here?" Glóin asked impatiently.  
  
"Well, I'm in the dog'ouse with Dori. Didn't really appreciate my taste in the expensive little statues they've got littered around. Better to stay out of his way for a while."  
  
"Mahal's stones, Nori... It never ceases to amaze me how opportunistic you really are!" Óin snapped.  
  
"Nori, was it you who did this..?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, I'm _always_ on the 'unt to get the chance to destroy footwear."  
  
"Perhaps there's mice." Óin mused.  
  
"Dori hates mice. Let's tell 'im." Nori said.  
  
"In a minute," Glóin said. "I don't think these are mice bites, though. Oh, well. Neoma would have burned them upon sight anyway."  
  
"They did look a bit knackered." Óin remarked. "Are you all packed up?"  
  
_"Yes."_ At his brother's look, the redhead sighed aloud. "I'm not a forgetful sixty year old any more! I've got everything I need!"  
  
"Your water-skin?"  
  
_"Yes!"_  
  
"Your cram?"  
  
_"Yes!"_  
  
"Your hood? Your pictures? Your pipe? Your pipeweed? Your flint? Your whetstone? Your emergency matches?"  
  
"Brother, don't mention the matches where pointy ears can hear! I'd never hear the end of it if Bilbo found out!"  
  
"Have you got them?" Óin asked, seeming to have not heard his brother.  
  
_"Yes."_  
  
"Alright."  
  
"You're worse than my brother is." Nori muttered, shaking his head.  
  
"There's no need for insults." Óin said sharply.  
  
"He's right."  
  
"If that's true, _Dori_ can be your brother for the day!" Óin retorted. "Go and find some other idiot to annoy. I'm going to find Bifur."

* * *

  
  
"Have you got everything?"  
  
"Oh, not you, too!" his adad sighed. "Yes, I do. I have everything I need, thank you, kindly... What about you?"  
  
"Yes. And no matter how many times I list off the things I have, someone always says, 'Are you sure you've got everything?'"  
  
His Dwarf-father grinned. "Are you sure you've got everything?"  
  
"Adad!" Bilbo protested. "Honestly, anyone can tell you're a father by your jokes alone!"  
  
"I tell the very best jokes, my lad! My father taught me everything he knew."  
  
"Then," Bilbo said. "His jokes must have been dreaded!"  
  
"Dreaded?"  
  
"Yes. I bet there's novels in Erebor about them being so awful. That's if the dragon hasn't crisped them all."  
  
Glóin turned serious. "Don't say that!"  
  
Bilbo glanced at him. "Is it still alive, do you think?"  
  
"He.. Well, I think he was about middle aged when he arrived. And he's been asleep so long, he might well have died in his slumber." Glóin thought for a moment. "At any rate, he'll be blanketed by gold, buried so deep, he won't notice your being there."  
  
"He won't hear me?"  
  
"Not if you're quiet. So, no, there shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"How big is Erebor?" Bilbo asked.  
  
"Very." Glóin answered. "It can hold tens of thousands of us. It holds the greatest forges and mines known to Arda. The mountain itself stretches so high into the sky that on a clear night, it looks as though it can reach the farthest star. But you don't need to comb through the whole city. Just the treasury."  
  
"I bet the treasury is the biggest room in the mountain." Bilbo sighed. "Filled with gold and gems and jewels. How am I supposed to find this King's Jewel?"  
  
His adad looked concerned. He drew him close and hugged him carefully, as though he was made of glass. He felt as though he was. If he had to choose a way to die, burning to death would be bottom of the list. "The gold in Erebor is not formed into bars. It's made into coins and jewellery, decorations and weapons that never see war. The coins in that treasury are all stamped with the King's Crest. Thorin _would_ prefer the Arkenstone, yes, but he would make do with a coin because, the ones in the treasury are of the purest gold, meaning they are ones that only those with the king's blood can take to give or keep. There were enchantments lain over them and there is no one foolish enough to consider breaking them. If you can't find the King's Jewel or if you don't want to risk it, you only need to get a coin and give it to Thorin. It will be enough."  
  
"He wouldn't be disappointed?"  
  
"No. Because it would be proof. He can trace it and send it to Dáin and he'll come and help us lure out the dragon if it is still alive."  
  
"Dwalin said there were seven Dwarf lords."  
  
Glóin nodded. "Aye. There's the Stonefoots, the Stiffbeards, the Broadbeams, the Ironfists, the Blacklocks, the Firebeards, and the Longbeards."  
  
Bilbo looked up at him, taking note of his fiery hair. "Was your father a Firebeard?"  
  
Glóin shook his head. "No. He was a Longbeard, his father was a Longbeard and his father before him. His mother was a Firebeard, somewhere down the line." He cleared his throat, apparently eager to get off the subject.  
  
"Is Neoma a Firebeard?"  
  
"No. She's, erm.." His adad thought for a bit. "Well, she's not directly descended from any of the first seven Dwarves. She is quite brawny and wide, mind. I reckon she's got some Broadbeam in her, but that'd be going back awhile."  
  
"Brawny?" Bilbo frowned. "But she's a woman."  
  
"Oh, yes, and she's a very strong woman, too. She's got bigger muscles than me!"  
  
"You're pulling my leg. She _can't_ have bigger muscles than _you_ \- you're a boy Dwarf!"  
  
Glóin shook his head. "Don't hobbit-women have muscles?"  
  
"Well, not obviously. They're soft and curvy."  
  
"Ah. Well, Dwarf-women look very similar to Dwarf-men. Even Dwarf-men can't tell the difference at times! No, our girls are sturdy and tough, but they are a bit more rounded than the lads. Sometimes." Glóin said.  
  
"How on earth do you tell the difference?"  
  
"We guess. Not always successfully, I can tell you. Right, put your pack with mine and Óin's." Glóin took out his pipe and lit it. Soft tendrils of smoke curled in the warm air. Outside, it was cold, the air icy. Some of the others had gone out to have a last look around. Tomorrow would be the plans for the entrance to Erebor.  
  
Bilbo put his pack by his adad and Dwarf-uncle's and took out his own pipe. His adad took it and carefully tapped a few embers of his own into it and the two settled side-by-side, smoking until they felt as warm inside as they did outside. He didn't want to think of Erebor currently. All he wanted to do was enjoy the last moments of peace before the final journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! I hope this is well-received and enjoyed :)


	44. Restful Night

He couldn't get comfortable. He knew he should be resting for the journey ahead tomorrow, but he felt restless beyond words. And he couldn't even toss and turn, or even fidget any more because his adad had finally wrapped him in his arms and held him quite still.

Even in sleep, the blasted Dwarf was ridiculously strong.

Could the dragon be dead? Or was he alive, brooding over his stolen hoard of bright gold, rare carvings, exquisitely wrought cups of precious metals and gems, the veritable armoury of weapons crafted by long-dead experts, the glittering rainbow of gems and jewellery? Did he know what was coming? Had he even taken a mate and bred?

He was getting ahead of himself, being silly. If the beast _had_ taken a mate, the world would have known by now. Besides, weren't dragons becoming rarer, their kind dying out?

Hobbits were not meant to face dragons. That said, they weren't meant to battle giant spiders or slay orcs and he had done those things.

At least, if worse came to worse, he wouldn't die unloved or alone.

"There is a secret entrance somewhere, we only need to find out where."

"And your grandfather _never_ told you?"

"No."

"Your father?"

"He wasn't exactly an open book."

"Well, do you have an inkling, perhaps, where it could be?"

"He came from nowhere. My grandfather searched for him after the dragon.. I still remember my father looked so out of breath. I believe there must be a set of stairs heading to this door." Thorin touched his chest, where the odd key hung. It didn't look like it could unlock anything, but Bilbo knew nothing about Dwarven keys, so he kept this thought secret. "We only have to find them. Then we'll find the exit."

Bilbo looked at the map. "We can't enter through the front because..?"

"No one has used it in nearly two _hundred_ years." Balin said. "We have no way of knowing if it will even work, but if it does, it was never the quietest contraption if I recall correctly."

"You do," Thorin confirmed. "It was loud, very loud indeed. Besides, I heard them whispering to my grandfather's cousin about a tunnel. There was no tunnel to the gate and a tunnel provides more discretion. When we get to the Lonely Mountain, we must be on the lookout for a high, potentially steep, staircase carved into the mountain."

"What happens when the door is unlocked?"

Thorin looked down at the map, tearing his serious blue eyes from Bilbo's green. "We'll send someone in with you. Someone who knows the Mountain and won't go rushing in to search it himself. Balin?"

The white-haired dwarrow nodded. "Aye, that's fine. If it is a tunnel, it will be straightforward and I remember where the treasury lay."

"My adad told me that if I can't find the King's Jewel, a coin would suffice."

Thorin stared at him for a moment and then nodded shortly. "Yes. But I do ask that you look and keep looking unless it becomes too perilous."

"I will look. It's what you hired me for, isn't it?"

Thorin offered him a weak half-smile. "You are not disposable. If you even have a flicker of fear about your safety, get out, and bring a coin. Otherwise, I shall expect the Arkenstone."

"What does it look like?"

"The Arkenstone! The Arkenstone! It was like a globe with a thousand facets, it shone like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars, like rain upon the Moon!" At this, Thorin's expression turned dreamy as though he could see this bright, remarkable gem, could hold it in his broad hand and reclaim his Kingdom in seconds. "It was beyond worth. The jewel of Kings! It is large, large enough for a Dwarf to hold in one hand and barely close his fingers over. Does that answer your question?"

It did, though Bilbo couldn't picture it in his mind's eye, he had an idea of what it looked like. "When do we leave?"

"At first light. I do not wish to stay here in time for a fuss. We are too close to Mirkwood for my liking, it would do no good to attract attention if any of those pointy-eared tree-shaggers should come for the trades and see the fourteen of us being cheered away."

Bilbo hadn't seen any Elves, but there had been hints of visitors of an elven nature and he knew that they would try to stop them if they found them. Thorin was right. It was best to leave quietly and early.

They were less claustrophobic than Bilbo had thought they'd be, but then, it didn't surprise him that the group of warriors were so matter-of-fact about it.

"If you spend all your time worrying, you'll get nowt done out of fear." This pearl of wisdom had come from his own papa, of all people, when he'd undergone a finicky phase and hadn't so much as stepped outdoors for a week. He'd only been small at the time, but he could remember being plucked up from where he had been hiding behind his mother's skirts and set on his father's knee. He could remember those kind, loving green eyes, the smell of pipeweed and old books. Lots of his own sayings had originated from his papa who had been exactly right about them all. Maybe Dwarves had their own sayings and thoughts about dangerous situations, but he was glad, at any rate, that they weren't clucking over him like a flock of panicked hens.

He leaned against the wall, trying to think of anything but what was coming. The door opened and shut. He expected to see his adad's jet-black, but the eyes he saw were the brown of autumn. Ori seated himself beside him, lightly nudging him as he did so. He felt oddly solid for one who looked as timid as Bilbo felt he did. Solid and warm and safe.

'You should always go for the one you feel safest with,' Bungo's voice rang out. Bilbo felt the tip of his ears flush. Why did that little gem come into his mind?

"I have something. Your hands are littler and thinner than ours, so.." Ori pressed something soft, woolen and warm into his lap.

Made of grey wool, they were a bit large for his hands, really, but they were cosy and warm and evidently made with great care. He smiled, gratefully at the shuffling Dwarf. "Thank you."

"I left the part where the fingers normally go because there might be climbing and you'll need to grip properly, and you can push them over your wrists and-"

"They're perfect," Bilbo interrupted before he exhausted himself trying to explain the design. "They're the first gloves I've ever really owned.. We don't need them much in the Shire."

Ori blushed pinkly. Even his freckles blushed. He seemed upon the verge of saying something, but bit the words back, instead choosing to stay beside him in companionable silence, the two entwined in their own thoughts and fears, taking some comfort in the friend beside them.

* * *

Of all of them, Dori was the first to start drinking. Then Dwalin decided he would have an ale too, if Dori was drinking. Then his cousins joined him. By ten, the fourteen of them had some form of sustenance before them and Thorin was slurrily and hypocritically telling them to watch their intake, in particular Kíli who apparently got clumsy when hungover.

"When I get home," said Bombur. "I'm going to give Qlîna _all_ the things she deserves, all the things we never used to be able to afford."

"What about my niece?" Bofur asked.

"Well, of course, Ažomil will get things, but she's a babe in arms and content with little. You know that."

"I suppose. Well, it looks up to _me_ to treat our dear mother after all the hard work _you_ put her through."

_"Me?"_ Bombur exclaimed. _"Well!_ As though _you_ weren't the one who always had a prank up his sleeve!"

_"You_ were the one who used to sneak down _every_ night to raid the pantry!"

Bombur raised an eyebrow. "'Used to'?"

"Oh, leave him. Nighttime eating is the best part of life!" Nori said. "Especially when your amad has just made her spicy gingerbread and it's a cold night."

Bombur sighed longingly. "There's so many things Qlîna deserves. I want her to have an easy life, and for Ažomil to grow up free of the worries we sometimes had."

"You know what _she_ says about having an easy life." Bofur said. "But I know what you mean, especially about Ažomil. Still, she'll be grand, especially with Mam looking out for her."

Bombur nodded with a smile and took another drink from his tankard.

"She'll be walking by the time you return." Óin told him.

"She was just learning to crawl when we left the Blue Mountains." Bombur said softly. "Walking, you say? My poor Qlîna! Children can move awfully fast." With a grin, he added, "That's why you hold Gimli's hand when you're out with him, isn't it?"

"Partly," Glóin answered. "The thing is, he wanders. He's done so since he could toddle about. It was fine for my father. He was so huge, he'd only look down and spot me in seconds! I don't have that advantage." As an afterthought, he said, "the bugger is nearly bigger than I am."

"Does he wander with Neoma's father..?"

"Don't be daft, Bombur. _I_ wouldn't dare wander with Neoma's father, let alone Gimli!"

The others, knowing when a train of 'child-obsessed adad' talk was coming, ignored the two and discussed the treasure of Erebor, delicately (as Dwarves can) stepping around the issue of the dragon by ignoring the fact it ever existed.

"Does it help? Having a father in law rather than your own?"

"Well.." Glóin gazed into the depths of his cup. "Ours was a unique situation. After what happened, we were influxed with people wanting to help. As the years passed, it was generally accepted all was more or less well again. But Alrik stuck around through it all. Be honest, I can't tell you the difference between my own father and him. Far as I'm concerned, he is my father in deeds if not blood. So it doesn't really compare, one to the other. Does Qlîna like your father?"

"Aye. But she grew up without a father. Sometimes I wonder what _my_ father in law must have been like."

"You worry, don't you?"

"Well, I'm hardly the picture of a perfect husband."

"Ah, who cares about that nonsense? When Neoma and I first got married, my beard was straggly and my hair was barely long enough to put in a bead. And I was so weedy, she used to say I could fit in a needle's eye. You're a young Dwarf with Mahal knows how many years to grow into a so-called perfect husband." He took a deep drink of his ale. "What matters is how you treat your partner. Nothing else, really."

"How long have you been married now?"

"You know how long, you idiot. We celebrated our 75th last year. Seventy five years with Mahal's most perfect dwarrowdam."

"I don't know why you're so smug. _I'm_ with the most perfect dwarrowdam!"

"You are not. _I_ am!"

Bombur rolled his eyes. "Not," he muttered. "Gimli must have been a wonderful surprise when he came after those fourteen years."

"He was, yes." Glóin felt in his tunic pocket for the blue quartz runestone that had been carried for so many weeks. "A joy to behold."

A few ales later and the conversation steered toward women in general. Specifically the iron fists with which they ruled their homes.

"You should have seen the sight of my great renowned fighter of a father turning into mush at the sight of my mother. I never knew anyone who loved his wife so much." said Glóin, the Dwarf whose tone, expression and general outlook softened considerably when his own bride was mentioned.

"I try and be like my father. He wasn't much of a cook, but he could make her favourite perfectly."

"What is it?"

"Honeyed oatcakes."

Glóin shuddered. "I thought your amad had good taste. Is she still as formidable as when I was young?"

"Worse. She liked you!"

"She was sweet." Glóin admitted. "I was always welcome to help knead the dough for her."

"She hates kneading dough, you know."

Glóin smiled. "That explains it. But she was a very kind woman, though she could be terrifying when angry. Luckily for me, I never invoked her wrath! I came close once when I kept laughing at you eating her flour."

"I thought it was something nice!" Bombur laughingly defended himself. "Our dear mother!"

"How is she?"

"As you remember her being, I suppose. Bit louder, though and the eyesight isn't what it was, but she doesn't seem to notice."

"I know your father is fine because a week before leaving Ered Luin, he got me drunk to the point of no return and spent the week mocking me for not holding my ale as well as him."

Bombur grinned sheepishly. "Did he?"

"Old rascal! Bofur takes after him completely. Looks and everything."

"I'm sure your father had his moments."

"Da had a prosthetic foot." Glóin recalled, gaining his cousins' attention. "And I never found out until I was nineteen. Do you know how I found out?"

"Yes," Dwalin said, grinning rather wickedly.

"No," said Bombur, shaking his head. "How?"

"He'd just got in from the mines, cleared off the coal dust and was trying to relax, but I didn't care about that. All I thought was that my father was finally home to play marbles with me. So, I went over to him, demanding he play with me, that he fuss over me-"

Dwalin snorted. Bombur grinned.

"-And my father said very quietly and sadly that he had a 'baddy foot', but luckily he knew just the thing to sort it out. It just needed to be rolled around very slowly and carefully. So I did as he asked and the second the ruddy prosthetic came off, he screamed like he was dying. It scared the _daylights_ out of me - Oh, shut up, Dwalin!"

Dwalin only laughed harder.

"I still remember our grandad hollering at him. He didn't only scare me, our poor grandad thought something unspeakable had happened to his surviving son and told him as much."

"He told Dís that story every time he saw us, you know." Thorin said. "I don't know why he thought she loved that tale as much as he did. Maybe it helped that he told the story of how he came to have lost his foot in the first place."

"By crushing every bone it had, wasn't it?"

"He was very strong at a very young age and lifted something that turned out to be too heavy for him and dropped it. Before they made him sleep so they could remove what was left of his foot, he knew what was going to happen and when he awoke, he treated his father to one of his terrible jokes-"

Bilbo gave his adad an 'I told you so' look and returned his attention to Thorin.

"He said to his father that he felt smaller than usual and when asked why, he answered, 'Well, I did just lose a foot!'"

Glóin hmphed. "He was trying to lighten the situation. Anyway, he survived to tell the tale and traumatise me. And our grandad was right, he was a childish git to do that, the old bugger."

"I think it's funny," said Kíli earnestly. "If I ever need a prosthetic, I'm doing that."

"If _you_ ever wind up needing a prosthetic, I'll be dead." Thorin said. "Your mother would murder me."

"And if you made a joke about it, she'd kill you." Fíli, the helpful brother, added.

"So I wouldn't tell her the joke!"

Fíli smirked disbelievingly. He knew, of course, that Kíli repeated his favoured jokes to anyone who he thought would like his jokes and his mother who no doubt laughed obligingly at each one he told, would be the first to hear any such joke.  
The trick, however, was an entirely different matter. Even Kíli wouldn't dare to do it upon their mother.

* * *

_''A-aack! Gollum! We wants it precious-s-s-s, we will find it soon.. Baggins-s is a thief!'_

The ring was heavy around his finger. It felt looser and looser and of its own accord, almost, slid from his grasp and clattered oh-so quickly to the hunched figure that stayed so close to the great beast, who had one dull green eye open, tendrils of smoke twisting from its monstrous jaws.

Gollum gave no real notice, no joy of finding his beloved item, but Bilbo could see it, gleaming gold on a stone-coloured finger. Gold, so bright, so pure, so perfect.. It did not belong to _that creature_ , it was _his!_ Sword in hand, he leapt upon Gollum who did not react, merely staying stock-still even as Bilbo hacked him bloodlessly in two. The ring was now back with him. He felt at peace, at ease now. Even the dragon was gone. Had he killed it? No, no, he couldn't remember doing that and he was sure he would. Now it was just him. Him and _his_ precious...'

Bilbo shivered as he shook himself from the strange dream. He scrambled through his pocket and found it, unharmed and beautiful, perfect and precious. His ring. His own ring of invisibility. He thought back to the dream and felt no fear or shame from it. Now it lay, gleaming innocent and golden in his palm, and he knew he would do anything to protect it.

"Pundurith?"

He hastily, but carefully, slipped his small treasure into its place. He felt strange, oddly light, the moment it slipped from his grasp, but he put it down to knowing he had no more worries for the ring. "Yes?"

"Why in Mahal's name are you out of bed? You must have turned to ice by now! Get back in!"

"Fusspot." Bilbo muttered, though he trotted over, knowing much better than to argue with, much less disobey, his adad.

"Tearaway."

"Hypocrite." Óin mumbled, half-asleep.

"Ah, shag off!"

"Watch your sodding language," said the Dwarf who knew more rude words than polite ones and who turned the air positively blue with his arsenal of creative terms.

His adad ignored this and wrapped his big, warm arms around him. Bilbo stole a glance to the window which showed a slice of silver moonlight and little more. Late or early, the time meant nothing. He knew what was coming.

"I'm scared," Bilbo admitted quietly.

"That's alright."

"No, it's not. How can it be?"

"You'd be surprised what you can do when you're afraid. Better to be afraid and cautious than fearless and reckless. You get a better chance of staying alive."

"I thought Dwarves valued bravery." Bilbo said.

"We value lots of things. You might be surprised to know that kindness is one of them. Mainly on our children's behalfs, you know."

"I might've guessed children would have _something_ to do with it." Bilbo said, half-smiling. "You didn't answer!"

"I suppose my point was that we don't only value courage. But you have plenty of that. You must know it. You could have turned back at any time, but you're here now. You haven't refused, you haven't quit. You're rightfully afraid, but you're still going through with what you vowed and that's courage."

"It doesn't feel like courage," said Bilbo.

"It never does. No one truly knows how it feels to be brave. They only know what it looks like."

This was somewhat comforting. He placed his head upon the broad chest which was softened by the thick pillow of beard. It often seemed like the maker of Dwarves had purposely designed them with beards for cuddling purposes.

"Sleep," his adad whispered. "You'll feel better after a few hours of rest. Close your eyes and think of something nice."

He did as suggested, closing his eyes and thinking of something peaceful. Not a chance would he tell any of the Company, but he thought of Rivendell, with its gently sloping pine valley, the gold sunlight falling in, the pale homes, the gentle waterfalls and its graceful clear river glittering brightly in the light of moon, stars, sun and fire alike.


End file.
